Sing It For The World
by galacticAcolyte
Summary: In the not-too-distant future, an apocalypse ravishes the planet, killing billions. A new, controversial government, BL/ind, rises from the ashes. But out in the Mojave Desert lives a band of rebels called the Killjoys who defy the order and will never be controlled…My Chemical Romance/Green Day/Paramore/Evanescence/Linkin Park/Flyleaf
1. A System Failure for the Masses

**So. Hi.**

**I have absolutely no idea where to put this story. It's on dA, but as I stated, that's a temporary home. Since there's no official website for massive multi-band crossovers, I figured, 'Why not put it here, in my home territory?' I hope it's in the right category, I hope the right people can find it-and most of all, I hope you enjoy it.**

**Real quick, for reference if you get confused:**

**~CHARACTERS~  
>Gerard Way, Mikey Way, Frank Iero, Ray Toro-My Chemical Romance<br>Billie Joe Armstrong, Mike Dirnt, Tre Cool-Green Day  
>Chester Bennington, Mike Shinoda, Rob Bourdon, Brad Delson, Phoenix Farrell, Joe Hahn-Linkin Park<br>Amy Lee, Terry Balsamo-Evanescece  
>Hayley Williams, Taylor York, Jeremy Davis-Paramore<br>Lacey Mosley-Flyleaf  
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**You don't have to know all of them. In fact, you don't have to know anything about any of them or Killjoy-verse. I'm totally winging it on this story and hoping for the best.  
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Chapter 1: A System Failure for the Masses

December 20, 2012

A Bar in Los Angeles, California

5:30 PM

Gerard Way had a headache.

For fifteen minutes, his friends Frank Iero and Ray Toro had been arguing the validity of the apocalypse theory. At first, their arguments had made sense, but now, the two had resorted to juvenile name-calling.

Next to Gerard, his brother Mikey stared at his beer bottle boredly. Mikey, like Gerard, had lost interest in the conversation a while ago.

"Yeah, but with global warming and that heat wave tomorrow…" Frank burst out. Frank had always been both pessimistic and superstitious—not a good combination when dealing with end-of-the-world theories.

"Dude, it was like five thousand years ago when they said that," Ray refuted. "They probably ran out of room on the real calendar."

"What do you know about ancient history?" Frank sneered.

"More than you, I bet."

"No way!"

"Yes way!"

"Why do we hang out with you?" Mikey interrupted, lazily trailing his finger around the rim of his bottle. Mikey was the youngest of the four, but most likely the most mature too.

Gerard chuckled. He had just been wondering the exact same thing.

"So what do you propose we do, Frankie?" he smirked. "How should we save ourselves?"

"High ground," his friend responded. "It's the safest option."

"Oh yeah, let's have a picnic on top of fucking Hollywood Hill!" Mikey rolled his eyes. "That'll save us from the acid rain."

A devious smile spread across Gerard's face. "No, we should do it," he said.

Mikey, Ray and Frank whipped their heads around to stare incredulously at him.

"It'd be fun," Gerard continued. He could just imagine it: the four of them, sitting atop the famed Hollywood sign, drinking beer and watching the death of California. They'd get drunk, on alcohol and on violent excitement, and when the disaster was gone, they'd storm the broken city that used to be LA.

"Of course you'd wanna do that, Gee," Ray said. "You just want to break the rules."

It was true. Gerard Way hated rules, hated laws, and hated the norm. It didn't help that he was always being mislabeled as 'goth' or 'emo,' two stereotypes that he constantly tried to defy.

"So what if I do?" the teen smirked. "Doesn't mean we shouldn't do it. Do you honestly think the cops will be out to bust anyone's ass tomorrow?"

Gerard could see the other three were beginning to consider it. Frank had a smile that matched his own, and Ray was nodding. Even reserved Mikey had a slight grin as he stared off into space.

Yes, the four of them would definitely be on top of Hollywood Hill the next day. Gerard's lazy smirk grew into a full-blown, toothy grin. "Meet me at my place at midnight," he told his friends. "I swear you won't regret it."

Skyline Apartment Complex, Apartment 603

6:47PM

"Tré! Billie! Get your asses down here!" Mike Dirnt's voice rang though the small apartment the three men shared.

Tré Cool stuck his head out of a doorway. "Not so loud, man," he winced as he made his way over to the messy couch.

Mike rolled his eyes. "Hangover?"

"Yep." Tré slumped over, his head in Mike's lap and his feet hanging off the end of the couch. He was snoring a moment later.

Billie Joe Armstrong picked his friend's feet up and unceremoniously flung them to the floor, sitting in the vacated spot. Tré woke with a start, glaring at Billie.

"Yes, Mike?" Billie sang sweetly, avoiding Tré's dirty look.

"Look," Mike said, pointing the remote at the small television set. Onscreen, a blond woman was standing in front of a weather map of Southern California. The map was covered in red, with LA colored a deep maroon to indicate scorching weather.

"…late December, but temperatures will reach an all-time high of over one hundred and twenty degrees tomorrow," the newscaster predicted.

Billie swore under his breath.

"Is it the apocalypse, though? Of course not," she laughed. "Science has proved that there is no chance of anything out of the ordinary happening and certainly nothing with the potential to end—"

_Click._

Billie held the remote out in front of him, his eyes still affixed to the blank screen.

"Fuck, man," Tré said loudly. "One-twenty. And we haven't had rain for, like, two years."

"Fires," Mike predicted gloomily.

The three friends stared at each other. They didn't believe in superstitions anymore than an average citizen, but they knew the signs of a catastrophe when they saw one.

"No fires in the desert," Billie said suddenly.

A slow smile spread across Mike's face. "Of course," he said. He stood abruptly. "Pack your bags, gentlemen—we're going on holiday."

Tré groaned. "For how long?"

"Forever," Mike smirked.

Williams Mansion, Beverly Hills

1:17 PM

Hayley Williams hummed happily along to the radio as she brushed her red hair and stared out the window. She could see almost all of Beverly Hills from her room on the top floor of her parents' mansion. Hayley didn't care very much about the events of tomorrow. She didn't worry, because eleven-year-old Hayley Williams lived a charmed life.

Hayley's father was an executive for an extremely successful record company based out of Los Angeles. Her mother was an heiress to a large oil fortune. Hayley, as the daughter of a pair of millionaires, was the definition of a spoiled rich kid.

Hayley's life was sheltered and perfect. She had anything she wanted: toys, pets, clothes, friends, you name it. At her school, she was a princess among the elite, the one every girl wanted to know and every boy had a shy fifth-grade crush on.

The young girl couldn't imagine anything that could shatter her perfect world. If her parents divorced, which was not uncommon for the elite, she would live with one or the other or maybe even both. If they moved, she would hate it, yes—but she'd charm everyone wherever she went. It wasn't that she was bragging, it was just a fact: everyone loved Hayley Williams.

The music ended, the radio switching to an announcement: "A heat wave warning is in effect for all of southern California," a monotone voice reported. And then, from the DJ: "Well, folks, looks like we're gonna end up cooking to death after all." He laughed in short staccato bursts that hurt Hayley's ears.

Hayley set down her blue hairbrush. Suddenly, her good mood had evaporated.

The Pacific Ocean

11:03 AM

Terence Balsamo waited in silence, perfectly still in the middle of the ocean. He had been there since early that morning, earlier than even the sun, and had been sitting there for four hours, waiting for a bite.

Terence, or Terry as he preferred to be called, might have lived by the Santa Monica pier, but that didn't make him rich or famous. It didn't even make him particularly well off. Terry was a fisherman, and that's all he ever wanted to be. He had a rowboat, and a motorboat for the days that he didn't feel like rowing. He lived in a small building—you could hardly call it a house—on a rocky peninsula, jutting far out from the shore and inaccessible except when the tide was low. His life was slow, calm and peaceful. Terry liked it that way.

Even better, he fished for a living, and Terry loved to fish. He had more fishing rods that he had pairs of shoes, and he sold his catch at the end of every day to a local grocery store. He made good money—not that he much cared. Terry didn't much care about anything anymore. He had stopped caring years ago.

Westchester High School, Westchester, Los Angeles

2:45 PM

A loud bell buzzed through the classroom noise, making a teenage girl who was asleep at her desk jerk her head off the cool top of the lab table. She looked around wildly for a moment, her icy blue eyes blinking blearily, before her sight landed on the boy next to her.

He laughed affectionately, smoothing down her long black hair. "Hey, sleeping beauty," he greeted her.

"Hey." Amy Lee smiled blissfully at her boyfriend. "Did I fall asleep again?"

"Yep," Chester Bennington told her. "But it's okay, you're pretty cute when you sleep."

Amy giggled lightly. "Liar. You're so generic, you know that?"

"I'm sorry if I can't think of an original compliment," Chester shot back, feigning hurt. "You're not the only tired one, you know."

His comment made Amy yawn, remembering her lack of sleep. Lazily, she got up from her seat and stretched. "At least school's over until next year," he told her brightly.

"If there is a next year," Amy joked.

"Pfft." Chester exhaled, his breath tickling Amy's arm. "Don't tell me you buy into that bullshit, Ames. You know that's just silly old legends."

Amy shook her head. "No, of course not!"

Chester studied her face, smirking.

Her shoulders drooped. "Okay, maybe. Just a little," she admitted.

He shook his head, smiling, and shouldered his bag. "C'mon, silly, let's get out of here." He intertwined his fingers with hers' and the couple exited into the bustling hallway.

"Y'know," Chester continued as they walked, "My parents are away this weekend." He looked at Amy meaningfully, and she blushed.

"I'd love to stay over," she crooned, and nestled her head into the crook of his neck.

If this were any other couple at school, those words would have held a lot less innocence and a lot more innuendo. But Amy and Chester weren't any other couple: they had been best friends for years before they had become an item, and their relationship still held that friendly tone. Amy had slept over at her boyfriend's house multiple times before without the two having sex.

"But Chaz…" Amy looked up at her boyfriend, her eyes wide. "Can we stay in the basement? Just in case, you know, the world _does _end?"

Chester burst into laughter, his free hand reaching up to ruffle Amy's hair. But in truth, he couldn't resist those big, blue eyes. "If that's what you want," he said, pulling her closer.

A Carnival Cruise Ship, off the Coast of California

10:32 AM

"And he was all like, 'What's your sign, baby,' and I was all, 'Eww, STFU!' Like, seriously, who even says that anymore?"

"Like, ohmygosh I _know!_"

"And then—oh my God, Jaclyn, you won't believe this!..."

Lacey Mosley groaned and pushed her ear buds farther into her ears. No matter how loud she turned up her iPod, she couldn't drown out Kim and Jaclyn's incessant nattering.

Maybe if Lacey had been a normal girl, she would've been able to appreciate the fact that Kim and Jaclyn were two rising Hollywood starlets who were at that moment discussing the secret lives of Hollywood's innermost circle. But she had grown so used to rubbing elbows with the rich and famous that she had stopped caring long ago.

Unable to block the chatter, and with a quickly rising temper, Lacey stood, grabbed her towel and retreated to the interior of the cruise ship. Lying in the sun too long would probably give her melanoma, anyway.

Every year, Lacey's parents planned their 'Christmas getaway'—three weeks on a cruise off the coast of California, where they lived. Every year, Lacey protested, saying she would rather spend Christmas with one of her few true friends than with her fake, plastic family. And every year, she was dragged along, regardless of what she wanted.

Lacey was the reluctant, rebellious daughter of a retired model and a famous movie director, and she had grown up in the spotlight. She was always being followed by cameras and it was not unusual for her to open a tabloid and find herself staring at her own face.

It didn't help her self-esteem that Lacey was always being overlooked by her own parents, either. It was obvious to everyone that they preferred her perfect elder sister, Hannah. Hannah was beach-blonde and gorgeous, even without the heavy makeup she always wore. She had begun modeling at age five.

Lacey wanted no part of her family's life—in fact, she rebelled against it. She purposely allowed paparazzi to take pictures of her looking like a street urchin. She insisted on going to a local public school instead of Hannah's elite prep school in Beverly Hills and she refused to act, sing, model or any other career that would be typical of an already famous teenager.

Sometimes, Lacey considered running away. The environment of Los Angeles was stifling to her, a pressure-cooked city of washed up celebrities and idiotic young pop icons. But then she realized it was futile. She was so well-known, she would be recognized within the first day and dragged back home.

There was no way out. Lacey Mosley was stuck living a life she didn't want.

Spaceland Rock Club, Downtown Los Angeles

10:21 PM

Mike Shinoda peered into the crowd that had gathered in the small, dimly-lit club. He couldn't be sure, but they seemed to be enjoying the music.

Mike smiled to himself, pleased that his band's efforts were not going unnoticed, and turned to the curly-haired man standing next to him. "Fuse," he told Brad Delson, and the guitarist nodded.

This was what Mike lived for: playing to the fans of LA's small but enthusiastic underground music scene. His band, Xero, had a small cult following that grew with every show. He and his best friends were barely scraping by, but they were loving every second of it.

Somewhere behind him, Rob Bourdon pounded enthusiastically on his drums. Phoenix Farrell began to play the bass line, and Joe Hahn spun discs like a boss.

Mike grabbed his microphone from the stand and began to rap while the audience cheered. "_Krypton, short suit MCs you'll be ripped on_," he chanted. "_You fell off and it's my lyric sheet you just slipped on_!"

The young Asian man closed his eyes and lost himself in the atmosphere of the music. The crowd roared happily, and Mike Shinoda thrived.

"Thank you," he called out at the end of the song. "Thank you so much, guys. We love you." He opened his eyes again, dragged back into reality. Tonight, he would go home, to the tiny apartment that the five of them shared, and they would practice. And tomorrow, they would be even better.

The Way Residence, Suburban Los Angeles

11:49 PM

"Are we seriously gonna go through with this?" Mikey asked dubiously. His face was illuminated only by the light of his glowing alarm clock.

Gerard stood over his sleepy brother, shouldering a backpack and dressed completely in black. His messy black hair flopped over one eye.

"C'mon, Mikey, don't be a spoilsport," he teased. He chucked a hooded sweatshirt at the younger teen. "Just get dressed. The others will be here in ten minutes."

Mikey groaned and rolled over, flinging his legs off the side of the bed. "You're crazy," he muttered, pulling on the sweatshirt.

Gerard grinned and mussed Mikey's hair. "I knew you'd agree in the end."

He stepped over to a window and began cranking it open. Long ago, Gerard and Mikey had found out it was the only exit point in the house that wasn't covered by the elaborate security system their parents had installed—not to keep others out, but to keep them in.

"Rope," Gerard said, holding out his hand. Mikey threw him the nylon cord they kept for sneaking out.

With the preciseness of someone who had done it a thousand times before, Gerard threw the rope out the window and waited for the _thud_ of contact. Mikey secured it, and Gerard heaved himself over the windowsill, holding tight.

He let himself hang there for a moment, twenty feet above the ground. A soft breeze ruffled his hair, and the boy relished the moment, the experience of breaking the rules. Then he began to slide down the rope carefully.

"Alright!" He called up to his brother. Three objects landed at his feet in quick succession: his backpack, Mikey's satchel, and a twenty-four pack of beer.

Mikey dropped to his feet in front of Gerard, tugged the rope, and carefully began to coil it while the pair snuck around the house to the street lamp where two other figures stood, illuminated.

Gerard grinned.

"Are we really gonna do this?" was the first thing Ray asked.

"Everybody's doubting me tonight," Gerard responded. "And of course we are." When Ray and Mikey rolled their eyes, he reminded them, "Hey, it was Frank's idea!"

"Oh, thanks," Frank griped.

"Do you take it back?" Gerard raised an eyebrow.

Frank sighed and hoisted his backpack higher up on his shoulder. "Let's just get on with it."

Route 15, Suburban Los Angeles

8:07 PM

"I can't believe you're making me do this," Tré grumbled. "This is the worst idea you've ever had."

Billie and Mike ignored him. Mike twiddled the dial on the radio, turning it to a rock station, while Billie steered their old convertible Corvette onto the freeway.

"How long are we planning to live in the desert?" he continued from the cramped backseat. "Because you do realize we can't stay in an abandoned warehouse forever."

"Well, obviously." Mike rolled his eyes. "Just, you know, a couple weeks. Till we get bored of it."

"I'm already bored of it," he complained, but Billie spun the volume dial and the music began to blare over his voice.

Billie laughed joyously, his spiked black hair flattened by the wind rushing by his head. The freeway was surprisingly empty, so he pressed the gas pedal closer to the floor and the car sped forward—out of the city and into Death Valley.

About a year ago, Billie, Tré and Mike had been bored. They had just gotten their car and they wanted to explore the places around their city that they hadn't been to before. It was Tré's bright idea and Tré behind the wheel when the three first entered the desert. Half an hour into it, Tré had become bored, but Billie saw something in the distance and persuaded Mike to drive towards it. Finally, four hours into their expedition, they had found an abandoned, completely empty, two story warehouse sitting in the middle of nowhere in near-perfect condition. Shocked at their discovery they had spent the entire day there and revisited it a few more times, but hadn't made an effort to make it any friendlier—and had certainly never stayed overnight there before. Until now, that is.

In the trunk of the car was a battery-operated TV, radio and stereo, along with a month's supply of food and clothes and air mattresses. Their plan was to wait out any coming disaster in the safest place they could think of.

Of course, it was also the least likely place someone would look for them if they went missing.

This is what ran through Billie's head as he drove. He told himself that they were doing it for kicks, that it was just an idle amusement for a few unemployed guys over a family-less Christmas break. But deep down, he knew it was far more than that.

Edgar Wesley-Moran Academy, Beverly Hills, California

December 21st, 11:46 AM

Hayley disliked school. She liked the people at school, and the people at school loved her—but she disliked sitting in a state-of-the-art classroom all day, listening to a stuffy, overpaid teacher drone on about mundane fifth-grade lessons.

It was tedious for her, the same thing day after day, never changing. Sometimes, she wished something very drastic would happen—a flood, a lack of power, a medical emergency, or something else equally interesting. Thankfully, today she didn't wish that.

The teachers did not lecture today. Instead, they let their protégés socialize. It was the last day of school before winter break, and with the students so highly excitable and the temperature so uncannily high, they simply couldn't keep a class in line.

"Truth or dare?" Katy, one of Hayley's close friends, leaned forward and stared at Hayley excitedly. The circle was completed by a few of her other admirers: Demi, Selena and Justine.

"Dare." Hayley grinned. She, as usual, was too full of nervous energy to sit still given the chance to execute a risky dare.

"I dare you…" Katy paused, tapping her purple fingernails against her chin. She leaned over to confer with Demi on her right before smiling devilishly. "I dare you to go into the boys' bathroom!"

"Oooh!" Demi, Selena and Justine chorused, and Katy smiled, proud to have elicited such a reaction from the rest of the school's most powerful.

Hayley grinned. She had always loved a challenge, and this was one she couldn't dare to pass up.

While their teacher's back was turned, the five girls snuck out into the hallway, giggling happily. Hayley led her troop like a war general leading an army. She paused outside the door to the bathrooms, grinning slyly at her friends, before pushing the door open and stepping in.

The Pacific Ocean

5:03 AM

Terry watched the waves calmly on December 21st. He observed the way they rose and fell in the bare, stark light of early morning. He watched as they crested and washed out, rocking his little boat gently.

But Terry was unsettled by the waves as much as he was calmed by them. After so many years of living on the ocean, he knew the patterns of the sea as well as he knew the back of his hand. And therefore, he knew that today, the patterns weren't the same.

Terry hadn't caught anything all day. It was as if all the life in the ocean had retreated to the bottom, hiding from some impending disaster foretold by the disturbance in the waves.

With a heavy sigh and an empty boat, Terry steered his craft back to the shoreline. Whatever was wrong with the ocean today, he wasn't sure he wanted to be around long enough to find out.

The Bennington Residence, Westchester, Los Angeles, California

2:32 AM

Deep in Chester Bennington's basement, the only two people in the large house laid together, their faces barely illuminated by the lit TV in front of them.

Chester's arms were lightly draped around his girlfriend, and Amy was fairly sure he had fallen asleep—his slow, steady breathing had become more rhythmic as he drifted off. They had made dinner together that evening and then came down to the basement, where Chester, true to his word, had set up an air mattress for the pair.

The movie they had been watching had ended fifteen minutes ago, but Amy hadn't wanted to disturb her sleeping boyfriend by turning off the television. Her mind was still buzzing. Somehow, she couldn't calm down, no matter how peaceful the current situation was.

Amy slowly slid her arm out from under Chester's, careful not to wake him, and reached for the remote. Muting the sound, she clicked through the channels lazily. She flipped past a car show, an infomercial, a rerun of _South Park, _and a news show. Then, her eyes widening, she reversed the channel back to the late-night local news.

"Chester," she whispered. Then, louder, "Chester!"

"Huh?" The teenage boy grunted, blinking blearily. Amy's eyes were still glued to the screen as his vision came into focus.

"What is it, Amy?" he asked, more conscious now. He fumbled for his glasses by his head.

Her lips parted, and she tried to speak, but found her mouth was too dry. Swallowing, she mouthed one word, almost silently:

"Fire."


	2. Coming Down like an Armageddon Flame

**So, hey, I'm back x)**

**My power was gone for the past week. It was utter fucking hell.**

**But I'm here now...so enjoy the chapter ;D**

**Also, thanks to the people who reviewed!**

CHAPTER 2: Coming Down like an Armageddon Flame

December 21, 2012

A Carnival Cruise Ship, off the Coast of California

5:14 AM

Lacey woke up in the middle of the night, disoriented. Her room tilted slightly with the waves, and although the rocking was calming, she frantically kicked the sheets away from her overheated body. The cruise ship bragged a state-of-the-art ventilation system that kept the cabins at a perfect seventy degrees, but her room was stifling.

Quickly, Lacey stood up and slipped a t-shirt over her pajamas. Easing the door open so she wouldn't wake Hannah, she tiptoed into the hallway.

Lacey wasn't sure if she was allowed to be on the deck at this time of night, but she'd never been one for rules anyway. She pushed open the double glass doors and was met with a cool breeze. That was all the convincing she needed to step out onto the empty prow of the ship, her bare feet hot against the wood.

The first thing she noticed was that there was no breeze as she'd originally thought, and the outside was almost as hot as the inside of the ship. The second thing was that the boat was pitching and tipping violently, something she hadn't been able to notice much anymore. And lastly, the far-off coast was emitting an odd glow. It was not the normal stark white of the city, but an intense red-orange that seemed to flicker as she watched.

The girl walked closer to the railing, her nightgown blowing slightly in the warm wind, to get a better look at the phenomenon. The shore was definitely glowing in an odd way Lacey hadn't seen before. The reflection danced on the water, turning the surface the color of liquid fire.

Lacey watched the illuminated horizon, fascinated, for a full minute. She couldn't think of an explanation for it.

Then, with a jolt, Lacey was thrown to the floor of the deck. Confused, she looked for an attacker, to find there was none.

Voices rose inside the ship as lights began to flip on. Lacey could hear confused conversations drift through the portholes, before the ship bucked again, and her head slammed painfully against the railing. Screams rose inside the cabin.

In shock, Lacey lifted a hand to the side of her head to feel something wet in her tangled hair. She pulled it away to find her fingers coated in a sticky red substance.

Suddenly woozy, the girl attempted to pull herself up to lean against the railing, but her head exploded in a burst of pain. She fell back, hitting the deck once again. The girl's last thought before she blacked was that the world was on fire.

Ballington Plaza Apartments, Central East Los Angeles

7:44 AM

Mike awoke to the sound of a blaring horn. He sat straight up in bed, snatching blindly for the alarm clock.

"Turn it off…" Rob grumbled next to him, burying his head under his pillow.

Mike punched the off button on the clock, and then pressed it again. The wailing siren didn't stop.

"Dude, it's not the clock." Mike grabbed Rob's shoulder and shook him.

Slowly, Rob lifter the pillow, peering at Mike tiredly. "Then what is it?"

"I don't"—at that moment, Brad came skidding into their room. His face was red.

"Get up," he yelled. "Get up!"

"Huh? Dude, what"—Rob began to groan.

Brad rushed over and began to tug the other man out of bed. "We have to get out of the building! There's a fire a block away. We're evacuating!"

Mike's half-closed eyes popped fully open, and he threw the covers away. "How much time do we have?" he asked Brad frantically.

"Fifteen minutes," the younger man answered. "Phi and Joe have got the instruments, don't worry. Just pack!"

In a daze, Mike ran to his closet and began to throw random items of clothes into a duffel bag. Rob stumbled out of his bed and lurched towards the main room where Joe slept on the couch.

"Go get Joe and Phi's clothes!" Mike barked at Brad, throwing him one of their ratty suitcases. When his bag was almost full and their closet was halfway emptied, he moved to his CD rack where he kept his most treasured possessions besides his guitar.

With the urgency of a madman, he emptied the music into his bag, cursing when he couldn't zip it completely. Almost savagely, he yanked the zipper and sighed in relief when it finally closed.

Mike ran out into the main room of their home. It looked like a madhouse. Rob was loading food into plastic grocery bags and Phoenix and Joe were attempting to fit a disassembled drum kit through the door.

"Go load stuff…in the car!" Joe huffed as he rolled the bass drum towards the elevator. "Brad's…with the other instruments. Hurry!"

Heart racing, Mike flew down the seven flights of stairs. _As long as the instruments are safe, _he told himself. _As long as we're safe, and they're safe._

_Just save the music, Mike. It's all that matters._

Mount Lee, Santa Monica Mountains, Los Angeles

4:49 AM

"This…is…the _worst_…thing…I've ever done…in my life," Ray puffed, heaving himself over the edge of the ridge.

Below him, Frank grabbed wildly for a handhold, before Gerard grasped his arm and tugged him up too. The four boys collapsed against the hill, three exhausted and one with a massive, satisfied grin adorning his face.

"That was…" Gerard leaned back, his hands behind his head.

"Exhausting?" Frank asked.

"Stupid?" Ray supplied.

"Dangerous and possibly deadly?" Mikey suggested.

Gerard closed his eyes blissfully. "_Awesome,_" he finished.

Mikey rolled his eyes and cracked open a beer. "Since we're up here, I guess we might as well enjoy it." He leaned back and took a long swig, observing the valley. "And the view is gorgeous," he admitted.

Frank looked across the boys' home, watching the bright lights of the city. He focused on an unusually lit portion of the landscape, zeroing in on a reddish-orange glow.

"What's that?" he asked, pointing to the spot.

"Hm?"Gerard glanced at the area, then rubbed his eyes and looked again, harder. "Whoa," he whispered almost reverently.

"What is it?" Setting down their beer cans, Mikey and Ray looked toward the spot, too.

"I don't believe it," Gerard breathed, his grin growing wider.

Mikey sighed exasperatedly. "Fill us in!"

"It's on fire," he said. "Los Angeles is on fire."

A silence fell across the four boys as they considered the idea.

Finally, Mikey shook his head. "I don't think…"

"It's true, Mikey," Gerard insisted eagerly. "Think how hot it's been these past few days. We haven't had rain in weeks. Everything's dried out—the city's basically a big pile of kindling." He laughed darkly. "Plus, it's December the twenty-first. Isn't this the reason we're here?"

The teenage boy was surprised how almost glad he was to watch the flames. It was exactly as he had imagined in his mind, and he was savagely happy he could be there to watch how his world ended.

A Deserted Warehouse, the Mojave Desert

7:58 AM

"Home sweet home." Billie turned the ignition off and swept a hand towards the towering building.

It was larger than the men had remembered. The corrugated gray sides were painted and graffitied, but it was just as they'd left it.

They had gotten slightly sidetracked that night, pausing at a broken-down motel to catch a few hours of sleep before beginning their drive again at six that morning. But at last they had arrived.

"Great," grumbled Tré. "Can we go home now?"

"Aww, where's your sense of adventure?" Billie slugged Tré's arm playfully. "You're not getting out of this one!"

Billie led the other two men to the wide double doors. Once, they had been padlocked closed, but the chains had rusted and fallen apart with age. Simultaneously, the three pushed on the heavy doors, and with a creak and a rush of stale air they swung open.

They were met with a massive, empty room with a high ceiling at least fifty feet above their heads. A railing spanned the edge of the space about two thirds of the way up the wall, signifying the second floor rooms hidden out of sight.

Mike whistled. The note echoed through the cavernous room, ringing and hollow. He took a step inside.

"I forgot how big this place is," he commented, turning back to his friends. "This could fit, what—fifty people living here?"

"At least seventy," Billie wagered.

"Well, we've got three guys and a load of shit we still need to drag in here," Tré reminded them.

The three men walked back out to their car, where the radio was still playing. The music had turned off, and Billie faintly heard the words 'Emergency Announcement' over Tré and Mike's loud conversation.

"What?" Billie muttered. He shushed his friends so that the radio was the only sound in the dry, empty desert.

The radio crackled and buzzed before spitting out 'Evacuating Los Angeles City and surrounding areas due to fires.'

Billie's jaw dropped.

'Repeat: Evacuating Los Angeles City and surrounding areas due to fires.'

"You don't"—Tré began, but Billie and Mike made frantic 'quiet' motions.

"Evacuating San Francisco and surrounding areas due to earthquakes. Evacuating Sacramento and surrounding areas due to flooding. Evacuating Anaheim and surrounding areas due to earthquakes…"

The end of the world had come.

Edgar Wesley-Moran Academy, Beverly Hills, California

11:56 AM

Hayley smirked as the heavy wooden door swung shut behind her. She took a step inside the small washroom, breathing in the acrid scent of smoke and the thin, clean veil of air freshener that tried to mask it.

She, the troublemaker, the daredevil, had never yet been into the opposite gender's bathroom. It was completely new to her.

Fascinated, she ventured farther in. It was much like its' female counterpart, and Hayley found herself almost disappointed that there were no boys that could possibly cause trouble for her. Nonetheless, she decided to stay a few minutes, thrilled with the novelty of it.

She had barely been in the room a minute when a loud alarm began to blare. Hayley sighed dramatically, annoyed. Fire drills were a common occurrence at her school. It had probably been one of the eighth-graders smoking in the bathrooms again.

The young girl was struck with a sudden flash of inspiration. Nobody knew where she was, save a few friends, and they would never tell anyone…why not skip the drill entirely? No one would even care…

Hayley leaned against a tiled wall in between two sinks, sliding her back down until she hit the floor. The siren was beginning to infuriate her. It was getting inside her head, boring deep down into her brain. Plus, the acrid, smoky scent was becoming stronger.

Suddenly, Hayley's idea didn't seem so exciting anymore. The small bathroom was too hot, too stuffy. She needed air—now.

Quickly, she raised herself from the floor and opened the bathroom door, stepping out into the hallway. It was completely deserted.

'_When did it get so hot in here?_' Hayley wondered absently, turning left into a new hallway that led towards the center of the school. To her surprise, the air didn't get any cleaner—indeed, it smelled even smokier than her previous location.

Her thoughts scattered as she continued to walk. Vaguely, she wondered where everyone was, but her mind was mostly occupied with the impending winter vacation.

Rounding another corner, Hayley thought she might stop by the nurse's for an Aspirin—she was developing a sudden cough from the odd air—but the hallway was blocked.

Hayley rubbed her eyes, positive she was hallucinating. But it was there—the solid wall of smoke hanging across the hallway.

And then she saw the flames.

Tongues of orange fire licked out towards her, blasting her with heat. Shocked, Hayley watched as a small flame licked her school-issued skirt. The heat burned through to her bare skin.

The pain snapped her out of her daze, and Hayley ran, screaming. The fire was everywhere. She tried every hallway to the outside, lastly the one she had come through barely fifteen minutes before. The fire had spread through the classrooms to obstruct it too.

The young girl was left facing the truth. She was trapped in a ring of deadly flames, and there was no way out.

Hayley Williams was going to die.

Terry's House, the Edge of California

5:54 AM

By the time Terry got back to his cottage, he was completely soaked. The waves had picked up, battering his boat and occasionally washing over the deck itself. A heavy rain had begun to fall halfway through his journey home, and he could see the first cracks of white lightning in the distance.

Shivering, the man quickly secured his boat and ran inside, shedding his sopping raincoat. He had never been gladder for his warm, safe home.

Terry turned on the teakettle and went to stand in front of the large window that formed most of the back wall. He could hardly see anything through the driving rain except for a bright spot far out on the horizon.

"A boat?" he wondered to himself. But what boat would be out in this weather?

Terry watched the boat while he waited for the water to boil. It didn't seem to move. He decided it was most likely a cargo boat, and that it wasn't bothered by the storm. Shaking all thoughts of the weather from his mind, he stretched out on the couch with his cup of coffee and relaxed, listening to the marine report radio.

The Bennington Residence, Westchester, Los Angeles, California

2:43 AM

"Shh, shh, darling." Chester held his shaking girlfriend in his arms. "It'll be okay. We're okay. We're safe, darling, you're safe."

Amy whimpered quietly. She trembled against Chester's body, her eyes shut tightly and her face pressed against his bare chest. She breathed in the familiar scent of his skin. It calmed her slightly.

Chester rubbed her back, tracing small circles on the surface of her worn t-shirt. He felt her shivers begin to lessen, and he held her closer to him.

He had known about Amy's intense fear of fire since they were in fifth grade and were just becoming friends. Their class had watched a video on fire safety, and she had begun to cry silently in the back of their darkened classroom. Chester had been the only one to notice. He held her hand, whispering jokes to her to distract her, and she had told him about the house fire she had been caught in when she was six. That was the day that they had started considering themselves best friends.

Amy finally stopped quivering. Chester pressed a kiss to the top of her head before releasing her, holding her at arms' length.

"You okay?" he asked softly, his brown eyes holding the gaze of her blue ones.

Amy nodded slightly, her long black hair shaking, and wrapped her arms around herself protectively.

"We're safer in here than anywhere else," he continued. "The fire can't be that big"—_Lies,_ he thought to himself, _the news show had said the fire was spreading to all of southern California_—and it'll pass straight over us. We're in a concrete basement, Ames. Fire can't burn through concrete."

Amy leaned forward, letting dark sheets of hair obstruct her face from Chester's view. She mumbled something into her arm, and then looked back up at Chester. He was worried to see her eyes shining with unshed tears.

"Promise me we'll stay here all weekend," she said. "Promise."

Chester nodded, watching his girlfriend carefully to make sure she would be fine. "Just relax," he murmured soothingly. "Try to sleep, darling. I'll be back in a minute."

"Where are you going?" Amy's head jerked up.

"Nowhere," he reassured her. "Don't worry. Sleep."

Slowly, Amy lay back on the mattress. Her eyes fluttered closed, and her breathing became more regular.

Quietly, Chester stood up and climbed the stairs, cracking open the metal door. He didn't smell smoke.

He slipped through the doorway from the safety of the basement to the above-ground, wooden structure of the house. There were a few things he just couldn't let burn.

A Carnival Cruise Ship, off the Coast of California

6:17 AM

Lacey awoke to high-pitched screams. She found that she had been moved to one of the plastic deck chairs by the pool. Her head throbbed painfully with every heartbeat.

She staggered to her feet and over to one of the pretty young cruise assistants. The girl seemed to be lost, whipping her head this way and that, trying to keep up with all the passengers.

"'Scuse me?" Lacey tapped her on the shoulder.

The girl spun around quickly to face her.

"I'm gonna say this simply," the teenager said, still foggy from her accident. "What the fuck is going on?"

"I—excuse me?" the assistant stuttered. "I'm not sure—"

"What the fuck is going on?" Lacey demanded. "What are we supposed to do?"

"Th-the sea is stormy," she said unsteadily. "The captain is trying to st-steer us to sh-shore."

"The shore!" Lacey scoffed. "The shore"—she waved a hand expansively towards the far-off land—"is on fire, in case you haven't noticed."

The assistant gulped nervously. "S-so are we," she confessed.

"What?" Lacey glanced wildly around the frantic deck. It was out of control, but she couldn't see any signs of an immediate flame.

"The boiler room is burning. We are evacuating the ship in a calm and orderly manner." Her eyes had glazed over, giving her a dull, dead look.

Lacey nodded, raising an eyebrow. "Yep, calm and orderly. I see." At that moment, an older woman in a pink bathrobe and hair curlers ran past, screaming something about demons and aliens.

"Look, where are the lifeboats?" Lacey sighed. She would worry about her family later—right now she just needed to find the way off this boat.

"Lifeboats?" the girl snapped out of her daze suddenly. "What lifeboats?"

Lacey groaned. "Where...are…the goddamned…lifeboats?"

"I don't know! Do you? Do you know where they are?"she begged.

"No, you idiot!" Lacey snapped. "That's what I'm asking you!"

"None of us know," the girl confessed quickly. "They never told us. We've been looking for them too."

"Oh, fabulous!" Lacey threw her hands up into the air, accidentally grazing the side of her head. "Shit," she muttered, remembering her wound.

She stalked away from the unhelpful attendant, towards the edge of the boat. A large knot of adults stood there.

"When in doubt, ask your superiors," Lacey quoted under her breath. Resignedly, she joined the circle of serious-looking older men and women.

Phrases flew around her, terrifying words about 'abandoning ship' and 'swimming home.' Lacey wasn't noticed by anyone. All of the adults were far too focused on saving their own asses.

"We have to jump," a white-haired man claimed. "We have to—"

There was a loud wrenching sound, and the group turned in unison. They watched in horror as the deck of the boat split open, revealing swirling water crashing below them.

Ballington Plaza Apartments, Central East Los Angeles

8:03 AM

"Get in the car, motherfucker!" Phoenix growled. "You piece of—"

Brad rolled his eyes and grabbed the bag, shoving it into the back of the van unceremoniously. "No, _you_ get in the car," he retorted. He pressed a quick kiss to Phoenix's lips before running around to the other side of the van.

"Ew, you guys!" Mike joked. "Get a room!"

In truth, Mike, Rob and Joe didn't mind Brad and Phoenix's open romance. It had been going on for nearly two years, almost as long as the band had existed. They had grown used to the occasional kisses during the day and odd noises coming from their bedroom at night.

With the five men and their belongings loaded into the band's black tour van, Rob floored the gas pedal and they spun out of the parking garage. "Where are we going?" he asked, his brow furrowed as he stared at the congested road.

"Out," Brad replied. "Just—out of Los Angeles."

"Follow the crowd," Joe suggested.

Rob spun the wheel, turning the van away from the main city and off to the east.

"Or not," Joe grumbled.

Mike twisted the radio dial till he found a news channel. "Fire continues to rapidly spread across Southern California," it crackled. "The city is being evacuated, although there is no sure safe place anywhere."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Rob muttered irritably, still focused intently on the road.

"The citizens are being told to make their way to Nevada, although scorching temperatures combined with a searing drought create a situation almost as desperate as ours. And don't even think about going north to Oregon or Washington—the long-dormant Yellowstone supervolcano exploded less than an hour ago. All life in the northwest United States has been exterminated."

Phoenix choked on a bagel.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please don't panic—but this really is the end of the world."


	3. Let This World Explode

**Another week another chapter...I really like this one ^.^ And if you're bored with the story right now, I promise it'll pick up with the actual Killjoy bit...right after next chapter, in fact. This is all prologue, actually, but it _is _still important ;)**

CHAPTER 3: LET THIS WORLD EXPLODE

Mount Lee, Santa Monica Mountains, Los Angeles

12:54 PM

Gerard wasn't so happy anymore.

For twelve hours, the four had stayed perched on top of the hill. Their beer had run out around three in the morning, leaving four tired, hung-over, hot, miserable teenage boys stranded atop a burning mountain.

But of course they wouldn't leave their location. They weren't stupid—they knew they would certainly die if they went back down into the valley.

"I told you so," Frank said for the sixth time that hour. "I told you it was true."

"I'm going to shove you off this goddamn hill in a second if you don't fucking shut up," Mikey grumbled.

And of course, their rising tempers weren't helping.

Ray was passed out, using his hoodie for a makeshift pillow. Gerard sat moodily away from the rest of the group, his arms wrapped around his legs as he stared intensely into the mess that was now Los Angeles.

He was thinking about the future. Ninety percent of his city was dead, his parents most likely gone, too. He was the oldest, the only legal adult, of the boys on top of the hill. He would support his friends if it came down to it—even if it meant sacrificing his young adult years.

But more and more, Gerard found himself thinking how four teenage boys couldn't survive in a post-apocalyptic world with nothing but spare clothes, cell phones and potato chips.

He probably should have thought that one through better.

A Deserted Warehouse, the Mojave Desert

1:17 PM

Mike sat on the floor with the portable radio, a tin of baked beans beside him. He frantically fiddled with the controls.

"Find anything yet?" Billie called as he lugged a cardboard box to the far wall of the room.

"Negative," Mike called back. The exhaust and boredom was evident in his voice.

Tré's frown became more pronounced, and he savagely kicked his box. He had been in a bad mood ever since he found out that there was absolutely no chance of returning to civilization anytime soon.

The truth was, there was no civilization to return to.

Before they had lost the radio connection, they had found out that it wasn't just California or even America that had been devastated. Europe was battling intense snowstorms and avalanches that buried entire villages at once. Asia was combating tsunamis and tidal waves bigger than anyone had ever seen before. Japan, apparently, did not even exist anymore. It had literally sunk into the ocean.

All over the world, people were dying—an estimated two billion so far. There was no sure safe place left. The news station had just gotten word on the flooding in New York when the connection suddenly cut to static. After a few futile minutes of trying to regain the station, Mike had carefully disengaged the stereo from the car and brought it inside the warehouse, where he had spent the past couple of hours painstakingly twiddling the knobs, trying to pick up a connection to any station he could.

Billie and Tré, meanwhile, had been clearing out a living space for the three men. The tall stacks of boxes were pushed against the walls, leaving a still-massive rectangle in the center of the room. In the rectangle were their three air mattresses, a camping stove, the radio, a small television that only showed static, and a pair of rusty armchairs that they had found in a back office. It was actually starting to look quite homey.

Tré flopped into one of the armchairs, grabbing a can of beer and turning on the TV.

"It doesn't work," called Billie from the other side of the warehouse.

"I _know,_" Tré responded lazily. "But it makes this situation seem at least a bit less crazy."

Edgar Wesley-Moran Academy, Beverly Hills, California

12:01 PM

Hayley's screams echoed through the empty building. She ran down one hallway, then another, then into a room, slamming the door closed before realizing that the fire had already burned through the back of the room. She tugged the door open and stood in the hallway, watching the fire at both ends. The only way out was up, and she couldn't fly, although she had never more desperately wished that she could.

Silent tears began to roll down her face, and she stood, chest heaving and fists clenched, awaiting her fate. "Help me," she whimpered, one last plea for a savior before her certain death. "Help…"

Hayley closed her eyes, gulping down her fear and waiting. Then a voice cut through the omnipresent silence.

"In here!"

Hayley's eyes opened again, and she looked around wildly, sure she was hallucinating—until a hand grabbed her wrist.

"C'mon, quick! We don't have much time!" She looked up into the eyes of her savior, and was met with a vaguely familiar boy that she knew to be in the grade above her.

Hayley tried to get herself to move, but she seemed stuck. She glanced down at her feet, then looked slowly back up at the boy, her hazel-green eyes shining wetly.

"I"—she swallowed, staring at him.

"Move!" he said impatiently. "You can do it!"

Hayley took a step towards him, and pain shot up her leg. She realized it was the one that had been burned. It was injured worse than she had realized—her entire thigh was pink-red and raw, the skirt and tights cleanly burned through.

The boy's eyes dropped to her leg too, and he muttered something angrily. Quickly, he slid his arms around her, one by her knees and the other under her shoulders. He lifted the tiny fifth-grader up and carried her into the janitor's office. Hayley clung to his neck as if her life depended on it—which it did.

"Taylor!" the boy hissed as he entered the office. "Taylor, open the door!"

Hayley gasped as a dark-haired boy jumped out from behind a heavy metal desk. She knew him—Taylor York. He was her age. She had never paid much attention to him before.

"Is that Hayley Williams?" Taylor asked curiously.

"Yeah," the boy who had saved Hayley replied, "and we can talk to her once we get out!"

Taylor wrenched open a door at the back of the small office. Hayley had always assumed it was just a closet, but to her surprise, a set of stairs appeared instead.

The older boy carried her down the stairs, Taylor following them closely. He shone a flashlight ahead. A musky odor pervaded Hayley's nose, and she realized that they were in a basement.

She watched the ceiling as they passed rapidly under the school. Horrified, she realized the fire would soon be here, too—small portions of the ceiling were glowing orange with fire, and embers drifted down through the air around them.

"Help her up," the older boy said, and suddenly she was back on her feet. Taylor's arms were at her side in an instant, though, supporting her and helping her to stand.

The boy fiddled with something in his pocket, before there was a metallic click and a door swung open, revealing bright, clear light. He scooped her up again and carried her, bridal-style, up the flight of stairs, Taylor rushing behind them.

As the trio exited the burning building, it suddenly struck Hayley that she didn't even know the boy's name. "Who are you?" she asked, staring up at him with admiration and gratitude

"Jeremy Davis," he replied, depositing her at the foot of a tree a safe distance from the fire. "Now would be an appropriate time to thank me for saving your life."

The Pacific Ocean

7:11 AM

Terry was very glad that he had gotten off the ocean. From the reports pouring in, the sea was not friendly today. There had been no deaths, but a capsized motorboat and a few craft stranded off the coast still made it seem like a formidable monster at the moment.

He was still curious, however, about the large boat outside his window. It hadn't moved in two hours, and he could swear he heard screams echoing off the water towards him from the ship. There had been nothing on the radio about it, though, so Terry figured he would be alright.

Exhaustedly, he lifted himself off the couch to make himself another cup of coffee. He was tired of listening to the constant static blasting out in his ear.

He turned his back from the window when the radio suddenly crackled noisily. Then a high-pitched scream broke the air inside Terry's house.

Through the static came a single word, repeated over and over: "Help. Help. Help!"

Terry ran back to the device's side, picking up the handheld transmitter and shouting "Where are you?"

"Oh, thank God," the voice on the other side sobbed. "We're on a cruise ship off of Los Angeles. We're burning! We—oh, the deck, it's split—we're split in half! We're sinking! Please, come save us!"

The ship! Terry stared out onto the stormy horizon hopelessly. Out there, less than a mile away, people were dying.

"I'll call for help," he said gruffly, and hung up the transmitter. But when he picked up the telephone, all he heard was a dial tone.

"Shit," he muttered, realizing the storm had probably taken down the telephone wires. He couldn't go back out into the raging storm…but there were people _dying _out there. He had to do _something._

_He had to do something._

Sighing heavily, he donned his heavy rain jacket and stepped out into the storm, ready to save someone's life.

The Bennington Residence, Westchester, Los Angeles, California

3:01 AM

Chester had realized why the fires were such a big deal.

He could clearly smell the smoke hanging in the nighttime air and outside the windows; the neighborhood had already caught aflame. He knew he didn't have much time. He wasn't even sure if he and Amy would be safe in the basement, but he would protect her to the bitter end.

Hurriedly, Chester sprinted up the stairs to his bedroom. _Logistics first, _he thought to himself, heading to the closet and grabbing a few pairs of jeans and a handful of his favorite t-shirts. As an afterthought, he also took the clothes of Amy's that had accumulated at his place over the years as well as some of his oversized flannel shirts that she loved.

Then came the important part. Chester bundled the clothes together and threw them down the stairs, then lifted his guitar into his arms, cradling the instrument. It was his prized possession, the one thing he could not live without. With the old wooden acoustic, he had written a multitude of songs and even won a school talent show. This was what he was risking his life for.

He lugged the instrument back down to the main floor, placing it at the door to the basement before gathering the contents of his kitchen into a freezer bag. He stood a moment in the empty, moonlit foyer, running through a mental checklist, before deciding he had already cut his timing close enough and should probably retreat to safety. The air around him had grown much too hot in his fifteen minutes aboveground.

Amy was still asleep, her black hair fanned out over the pillow like a halo. Chester set the emergency supplies down next to the old, threadbare couch and sat down.

He was tired, and yet he couldn't tear his eyes away from his girlfriend's sleeping form. There was something calming in the gentle rise and fall of her stomach as she breathed, in the peaceful look she wore on her still face. She looked angelic in the dim light.

She mumbled his name in her sleep, and an odd emotion began to rise inside him. It was affection, joy, longing, safety, hope…

It was love, Chester realized.

Quietly, he reached for his guitar and began to strum softly. Amy did not stir.

The lyrics had been rolling around in his head for a while. He had just needed that word to complete the song.

Somewhere in Amy's subconscious, Chester's voice pervaded, his soft lyrics filling her dreams with a pink haze. "_And I fall into the ocean, inside of your arms, taking me deeper where all the pain goes…"_

A Carnival Cruise Ship, off the Coast of California

7:08 AM

"Shit," Lacey gasped. "Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit."

The heavy wrenching sounds continued, and the deck shifted inwards. Lacey screamed, clutching onto the railing to keep her anchored in place.

"Don't look down, don't look down, _don't fucking look down,_" Lacey chanted to herself, before disobeying her own instructions and looking down into the gap between the two halves of the boat in time to watch the terrified cruise assistant sink into the swirling watery vortex. She did not resurface.

Lacey's legs suddenly went very weak.

She didn't have much time. Her arms were already tired, and all she wanted to do was let go of the railing and to slip into cool oblivion. But another, stronger, part of her floating just beneath her consciousness was screaming to make a plan, to get out—to _live._

So Lacey assessed her options. She could let go and hope to grab something—far too risky, an almost certain way to die, she reasoned. She could slowly work her way up the railing to the prow of the ship—but no, her arms were weak from just holding on, she could never muster enough power to tug herself all the way. Or she could jump over the railing.

The ship was taking on water now. A third of the deck was underwater, and every moment more people dropped down to their deaths. She could almost feel the cold sea at her toes.

Then, snapping out of her daze, she realized she _could_ feel it.

The jolt gave her the motivation to move, and gathering the last remains of her strength, she heaved herself up until she was semi-standing against the railing. Pausing to survey the scene, she realized she had minutes, if not mere seconds left to make her escape.

She desperately flung a leg over the edge so that she was straddling it, half of her body dangling out over the void. Then, slipping her other leg over the top, she balanced on top of the railing for a fragile second. She glanced down into the cold, unfeeling ocean, slate-gray in the sparse morning sunlight.

Then, steeling herself for the drop, she shoved herself away from the railing. Lacey plummeted like a stone, her brown hair forming a trail behind her, and she plunged into the water far, far below. Her world was engulfed in waves.

Route 15, The Mojave Desert

9:30 AM

"How much farther do you want me to drive?" Rob mumbled, his head drooping. He wasn't used to being awake this early the night after a show, and the entire band was exhausted by the early hour.

Joe yawned, stretching his arms overhead. "I dunno, _you're _the one who brought us out here. How far do you want to go?"

Rob furrowed his eyebrows and stared hard at the road, as if willing something to appear out of the desert dust.

In the back of the van, Brad and Phoenix had fallen asleep, Phoenix's head resting on Brad's broad chest. Joe had pulled out his smart phone and was desperately trying to find news about the sudden fire on the Internet. Mike sat next to Rob in the passenger seat, offering moral support to his best friend.

"Find somewhere to pull over," suggested Mike. His hand grazed Rob's on the clutch briefly, before he pulled it away. "It doesn't matter where. We'll just hide there until all this shit stops happening."

"There's nothing out here!" Rob growled angrily. "I was stupid. I should have followed the crowd. We could be in Arizona by now!"

"Arizona's burning, too," Mike reminded him gently. "It was a good idea. We'll be fine."

Rob relaxed, his anger dissolving into exhaustion. "I don't know how much further I can go," he confessed.

And then, as if in a dream, something _did _rise out of the desert. Mike gasped, rubbing his eyes to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.

"What is it?" Joe asked, leaning forward anxiously.

"It's a…" Mike peered out of the windshield. "…a gas station?"

The small building stood, seemingly empty, on the dusty desert road. A large sign proclaiming _Dead Pegasus Garage _rose above the two deserted gas pumps.

"A gas station means food," Joe reasoned. "I want food."

"Us too!" Phoenix's tired voice rose from the back of the van.

Mike and Rob exchanged a glance. "Looks safe enough," Mike shrugged. "And I'm hungry, too."

Rob floored the pedal and the wheels screeched into the lot.

The first one out of the car was Phoenix, who was sprinting towards the store with Brad on his heels. "I guess they were really hungry," Rob chuckled, before his face lit up. "Dude! The gas price! That's the cheapest I've ever seen it!"

With the rest of his friends occupied, Mike wandered over to the plastic newspaper dispensers outside of the store. There were three different papers: the _New York Times, Los Angeles Sun _and the _Herald. _The most recent dated back to July 31st. Much more recent were the porn magazines on the rack next to them. He was tempted, but he turned instead to the soda machine.

It was unlike any he'd ever seen before. There was no logo. The entire thing was instead painted white, with four large buttons on the front labeled Coke, Diet Coke, Sprite and Water. There was no slot to insert money.

Tentatively, Mike pushed the button for Diet Coke. The machine clanged and whirred for a moment, before a can rolled out into the slot at the bottom. A metallic voice beeped 'have a nice day.'

"Hey guys!" Brad called, walking out of the small store. His arms were loaded with junk food, and he clutched a six-pack of Coors Light in each hand. "There's no one on duty in the store, and it's full of food!" Phoenix followed him, his arms similarly full.

"We could stay here for a while," he added.

Joe plucked a bag of potato chips from Brad's stash. "Are they safe to eat?" he asked suspiciously, turning it upside down to check the expiration date.

"It's all pretty old, but it's definitely good!" Phoenix crowed, and before anyone could stop him, he took a massive swig of coffee from a Styrofoam cup.

Three shouts rang out from Mike, Joe and Rob, and they watched with bated breath as Phoenix swallowed.

His eyes closed for a second, but then he smiled and looked back at them. "See? All good"—he said before he was bowled over by the others rushing to the store.

Mount Lee, Santa Monica Mountains, Los Angeles

2:37 PM

"Rock, paper, scissors, shoot," Ray chanted, straightening his hand until it was flat. "Argh," he moaned when he saw that Mikey had scissors.

"Ha!" Mikey exclaimed, marking a line next to him in the dirt. "Now we're twenty-nine to seven."

A few feet away, Frank and Gerard lay side by side, staring up into the blue sky. "How is that even remotely amusing?" Frank murmured.

"I don't know, man, I don't know," Gerard replied, equally softly. "Hey, I found a grenade."

"Looks more like a turtle."

"Turtle? Where the fuck did that come from?"

"I dunno, man, just looks like a turtle to me."

"I don't see it." Gerard cocked his head to the side, staring at the cloud in question.

"Look, there are the legs—"

"Those aren't legs, dude, or the turtle must have been born very deformed."

"Then it's a deformed turtle. Happy?"

"Still doesn't look like a turtle, but whatever you want."

"How much longer are we gonna stay up here?" Frank asked abruptly.

Gerard huffed angrily. "I already told you, I don't know!"

"But what do you _think?_" he pressed. "I mean, it has to end sometime…doesn't it?"

The two lay in silence, mulling over the question for a minute. "The world ends on December 21st," Gerard said finally. "So it should stop at midnight on December 22nd, right?"

"Or maybe it doesn't stop," Frank replied gloomily.

"We'll just have to hope it never gets to that point."

A Deserted Warehouse, the Mojave Desert

5:26 PM

"Well, this is sure exciting!" Tré grinned fakely.

"Oh, shut up or I'm not going to feed you," Mike shot back.

Tré glanced down into the skillet atop the camping stove, where Mike was attempting—and failing—to fry microwave burritos. "Not sure I want to eat that, anyway," he remarked.

"Hey, I'm doing the best I can!" Mike retorted.

"Well, obviously your best isn't good enough," sneered Tré, curling his lip.

"Your attitude is not fucking appreciated," Mike growled.

"Well, neither are your shitty cooking skills."

"Oh, you little piece of"—

Billie groaned loudly. "You're supposed to be best friends! Can you please stop fighting for _one god damned second?_"  
>Tré and Mike looked at him like scolded children.<p>

"Look, we're all tired, and bored, and hungry, I know. But wouldn't you rather be here than in a burning city? Or worse yet, dead already?" he continued. "No, our situation isn't ideal and it isn't at all fun. But at least we're _alive!_"

Tré let out a quiet cheer, half mocking and half agreeing with his friend.

"So let's make an adventure out of it," finished Billie. "Let's at least try to make it worthwhile!"

"Awesome," Mike answered, "except our burritos are burning."

"Fuck the burritos," Billie said, waving a hand expansively. "We'll figure something out." At that moment, the TV flashed briefly, showing a picture through the static for a moment.

"Dude!" Tré ran over to the device, frantically pushing buttons in a seemingly random sequence. The TV flashed again, before a fuzzy picture began to appear on the screen. It looked sort of like a cartoon character.

A smile broke across Tré's face for the first time since they'd left home. "We've got TV!" he crowed. "Thank God!" Jumping into the armchair, he turned the volume up until they could faintly hear a dialogue running in between the static sounds.

Billie and Mike smiled at each other. Although it didn't take much to anger Tré, it took even less to distract him from the anger. Maybe they would finally all be able to get along now.

The Field behind Edgar Wesley-Moran Academy, Beverly Hills, California

12:40 PM

"Where is everyone?" Taylor murmured, not for the first time.

For almost half an hour, the three had huddled together on the fields behind the school. Hayley had not yet stopped shaking. The burn on her leg had faded to a vivid red, and it throbbed angrily. Jeremy had promised that as soon as they found a nurse, they would get it checked out—but the nurse wasn't on the field like she should be during a fire drill. Neither was anybody, in fact.

"They must have got on a bus," Jeremy said. "Or left the grounds or something."

But all of them knew this was not true.

Hayley hadn't spoken since thanking Jeremy and Taylor profusely. She was still digesting the fact that all of her friends were either dying or dead a few yards away.

She wasn't sure how she had ended up in the position she was in, but she was leaning against Jeremy, her head resting on his shoulder. It felt completely natural, almost sibling-like. She liked the protection the older boy offered. Taylor sat on her other side, his arm resting lightly around her shoulder. It was as if in that moment as if they were the only three people in the world.

"Should we go look for anyone?" Taylor asked quietly.

Hayley watched the flames intently. They had definitely grown a lot. The entire school had been engulfed. "We can't," she realized. "I wish we c-could." She felt, against her will, her voice breaking on the last word, and she fought to keep the tears from rising into her eyes.

But Jeremy noticed. His only response was to pat her shoulder comfortingly. "We all do," he whispered. "We all wish we could, but we've got to stay here—we're safe here. We'll be fine. At least we'll be fine."


	4. Rain Clouds Come to Play Again

**So I'm trying to get into the habit of updating every other Friday, we'll see how that works out ;D**

**Quick advertisement: I'm doing a quick little Christmas story involving MCR, Ev, Para, LP, Flyleaf and VersaEmerge-check it out, it's on my profile x)**

**Thank you for all your kind reviews, I'm glad everyone likes it 3**

**Here's the chapter!**

CHAPTER 4: RAIN CLOUDS COME TO PLAY AGAIN

The Bennington Residence, Westchester, Los Angeles, California

3:29 PM

Chester woke to a soft rustling noise next to him. He rubbed his eyes blearily.

On the other side of the couch, Amy sat brushing her long hair carefully. She was humming a familiar tune under her breath, and Chester realized it was the song he had written that morning.

He coughed, and Amy twisted around quickly. "Oh, I didn't mean to wake you up!" she exclaimed. "I'm sorry!"

"It's fine," he replied, reaching for his cell phone to check the time. "Whoa, when did it get so late?"

"We slept for a while," Amy giggled. She set down her hairbrush and stood up, revealing that she'd changed into a clean pair of jeans and one of Chester's plaid button-downs. Her stomach grumbled, and she laughed again.

"Jesus, we haven't eaten in twenty-four hours!" Chester muttered under his breath. He, too, rose from the couch and shuddered at the sudden chill in the air. It had cooled down quite a lot since last night and he was still only wearing a pair of boxers.

"But we don't have food," Amy replied, confused.

"Yes, we do!" Chester said. "Last night, while you were asleep"—

Amy gasped. "You didn't go _up, _did you, Chester?" Her eyes widened in shock.

"Well, yes," he admitted. "But I was fine…"

She bit her lip, staring at him tensely. "Was there…was there fire?"

"Not here," he said truthfully.

Amy relaxed and kissed his cheek quickly, then turned back to the bag of supplies and began to rummage for food. "Check the TV," she called out. "Maybe there's something on about what's happening."

Obediently, Chester turned on the device. There was one channel working, and it showed a lone news reporter standing outside. "Well, folks, I'm still holding on up here in San Fran," he said. "I'm being told this is the only channel still working in California. It's not safe to leave shelter yet. We're not sure what's happening now, but I'll keep you updated till it all blows over—or until the apocalypse gets me, too."

Chester frowned and turned off the TV again, picking up his guitar instead. Amy returned with a bag of chips and a handful of granola bars.

"So that's why you really went back up," she observed.

"Yeah," he replied absently, picking out a chord, then another. He began to strum quietly.

"Were you playing last night?" Amy questioned softly.

He nodded. "You heard that?"

"In a dream," she murmured. "I wasn't sure if it was real."

Chester's response was to strum the introduction he had improvised. "I wrote it for you," he whispered, before beginning to strum.

_Give me a smile, give me your name, girl_

_Give me a sign, to guide my way_

_And get what I came for you,_

_Cause you don't come easy_

Chester closed his eyes, letting his feelings overtake him. He felt only the smooth strings under his fingertips and the soft weight of Amy's head on his shoulder. He heard only her quiet breath and the music that filled the open space.

_Give me a smile, give me your name, girl_

_Let them know that you're mine_

_And I'll do the same for you_

_Cause our love comes easy_

This whole ordeal was almost worth it, just so this moment could exist.

Chester began on the bridge, letting his fingers fly across the fretboard. Beside him, Amy's eyes had slid closed, but the biggest, most beautiful smile had taken over her face. For a moment, the boy was struck breathless by her beauty.

_And I fall into the ocean_

_Inside of your eyes_

_Taking me deeper_

_Giving me new life_

Chester neared the end of the song, finally finishing by murmuring "_you're my whole life_." He looked at Amy, his eyes shining. "I love you, Amy Lynn Lee," he whispered passionately, almost angrily. "I love you more than anything else in this world."

"And I love you, Chester Charles Bennington," she whispered back. The words were nearly made indistinguishable by the small sob she let out halfway through his name. With tears rolling down both their cheeks silently, their lips crashed together and somehow they knew that as long as they had each other…everything would be alright.

Somewhere off the Coast of California

7:46 AM

Terry could now see why the girl had been right to panic.

The flaming ship was split in half down the middle, both portions almost completely submerged underwater. There was a loud, continuous wail emanating from it—the screams of a thousand dying people.

He didn't dare get any closer to the wreck. There were burning pieces of debris falling from the frame, and if one landed in his boat, well, he was sunk. Literally and figuratively.

Terry was torn. He wanted to help desperately, but there was no way he could rescue anyone from the actual ship. He had sent out multiple calls for help with his radio, but there had been no response. The only way it seemed as if he could do anything was to sit there and to pick over the remains for survivors.

It was the most gruesome thing Terry had ever seen. He couldn't see close details from this distance, but he could see the flaming objects that fell from the ship routinely, flailing as they dropped. He had long ago realized that they were human bodies hoping that the waves would quench the fire.

There was no one else on the ocean. No coast guard, no rescue ships, not even another small craft like his. He alone had the power to save these peoples' lives…and yet he was powerless.

Somewhere off the Coast of California

7:15 AM

The water hit Lacey like a slap to the face—a freezing, cement-hard slap that reverberated against her entire body. She plunged deep under the waves, her short hair tangling around her face and the salt stinging her eyes painfully.

Her chest began to ache from the lack of air, and she frantically kicked out against the water, clawing her way upwards. Her head felt light.

_Just a bit farther, _she begged herself. _Just to the surface…_

At the very moment her tired arms gave out, her head broke through the top of the water and into clean, salty air. She gasped it in gratefully, heaving saltwater from her lungs back into the ocean.

Her fingertips made contact with something floating beside her. She wrapped her arms around it, realizing it was a surfboard from the simulation wave pool aboard the ship, and hung on for her life.

Lacey had no idea how long she drifted there, in the icy surf, with her family burning behind her. It might have been seconds, or it might have been hours. But somewhere inside her, hidden reserves of energy rose to the surface, giving her the power to keep holding on.

Slowly, she became aware of a low, constant buzz. It stirred a distant memory in her mind: the roar of her grandfather's motorboat as she sat in the prow, wind caressing her face…

Her grandfather's motorboat…

"A motorboat!" she gasped. She coughed, her throat stinging from the saltwater she had ingested, but all the same, forced herself to shout out.

The buzz grew louder.

8:02 AM

Was that a yell?

Terry could swear that there was a sound from somewhere out by the wreck. The last tip of it has sunk below the surface only a moment before.

Without any debate, he gunned the engine, zooming towards the sound of the shout.

8:03 AM

It was definitely a motorboat. Lacey could see it now, far away but coming closer ever second.

She cried out again, lifting an arm to wave above her head. The sudden action almost made her lose her grip on the slick surfboard, and she quickly slammed her arm back down.

But the boat had definitely seen her.

8:03 AM

The small figure waved its' arm once, and then put it back down. Terry sped towards it, sending up a massive wake behind his boat.

8:04 AM

The boat pulled up alongside her, and a tall man rose from the drivers' seat. His long dreadlocks were tied back in a ponytail, and he looked downright intimidating standing there. But Lacey didn't care.

"Hi," she gasped out, raising a hand feebly to wave.

"Hi," he responded, chuckling. He cut the engine and walked to the back of the boat, where he grasped Lacey's lower torso and lifted her up and onto the leather seat at the back. "I'm Terry Balsamo."

"Lacey Mosley," she replied, shaking his hand. "I owe you my life."

Dead Pegasus Gas Station, Mojave Desert

10:28 AM

"Jesus…" Phoenix moved a hand to his stomach and burped loudly.

"Ew, Phi…gross…" Rob groaned languidly. He was collapsed against the checkout counter, surrounded by wrappers.

Nearby, Mike lay sprawled on the tiled ground. "I haven't eaten like that since…well…since we moved in and started the band," he confessed to the others.

"Neither have I, dude," Brad agreed, patting his stomach contentedly. "In fact, I think we ate too much…"

Joe was the only one who had remained standing, although he was leaning against the counter. "We should really get up and move…guys…" he said. "What if there _is _a store owner, and he comes back and finds us here?"

"Good point…" Rob agreed, squinting up at Joe. "How 'bout you go stick some food in the car while we get our shit together?"

"Seriously?" Joe threw up his hands angrily.

Mike moaned and pushed himself off the floor, picking himself up slowly. "C'mon, Rob," he grunted, tugging the other man to his feet. "It was your idea!"

"But I don't wanna…" Rob whined. All the same, he allowed himself to be pulled up and grabbed an armful of junk.

"Where are we going now?" Mike questioned the other two. "I'll drive, I just need to know where to…"

"There isn't much out here," Joe laughed bitterly. "We just need some form of shelter to wait out the disaster in."

"A motel," Rob supplied.

"Yes, like a motel," Joe continued, "but somewhere in the desert…"

"No, I mean there's a sign for a motel!"

"Huh?" Mike hadn't noticed the small road sign on the way in, but sure enough, it pointed down the road to a squat building far in the distance.

"Yeah, and suppose that one's deserted, too," Joe argued.

Mike shrugged passively. "Hey, it's at least worth a try, don't you think?"

So as soon as the convenience store was virtually empty of almost everything useful and Phoenix and Brad had been coaxed into the car, they set off towards the distant hope of shelter.

It was farther than it had seemed. It took almost half an hour for them to reach the small Motel 8 on the side of the desert highway. But they finally pulled into the empty parking lot, a neon sign blinking 'vacancy' standing proudly over their heads.

"Are you sure it's safe?" Brad asked, peering out at the sign with his eyes shaded.

"I dunno, man," Mike said softly, "but it's all we've got."

Mount Lee, Santa Monica Mountains, Los Angeles

6:07 PM

The rain started at exactly six o'clock that night.

Frank remembered the exact time. He had been staring at his watch morosely, counting down the seconds till the end of the day, when something wet had hit his nose. It stung.

He had glanced up at the sky, holding a hand up to shield his hand, when another raindrop fell into his palm. He lowered t to find a perfectly round pink wound burned into the skin.

"Shit," he muttered. "That doesn't look good."

That was when Gerard, who was too full of nervous energy and had gone to explore the hill, had called out that he had found a cave. The four had hardly made it into the rocky, dry area before the sky really opened up.

Gerard shivered against Frank's side. Next to them, Mikey and Ray huddled underneath the other blanket. The air temperature had plummeted with the downpour, plus all of them were damp from the burning rain.

"What _is _that stuff?" Mikey murmured. He watched a small green plant outside the edge of the cave wither and turn brown as the rain battered it.

Frank shook his head. "Whatever it is, we better hope it ends soon."

"I'm cold," Gerard whispered faintly. He shifted closer to Frank, shuddering slightly.

"We all are," Frank replied. "Relax, it'll be over soon…"

Slowly, Gerard's breathing slowed and Frank realized he was asleep. Ray and Mikey, too, had passed out under their blanket. Ray was snoring quietly.

"Thanks, guys," Frank muttered under his breath. He didn't really mind—his position, with Gerard's arms wrapped around his waist and his head in his lap, was actually quite comfortable.

He absently stroked his fingers through Gerard's soft black hair, staring out into the rain. He could feel his best friend's warm breath against his leg.

Frank sighed and resigned himself to a night of staying awake to keep his now-only family safe.

A Deserted Warehouse, the Mojave Desert

6:21 PM

"God damn tin roof," Tré muttered, staring up at the ceiling. The din of the rain on the metal was deafening.

Mike looked up from where he was laying on his sleeping bag, reading a book. "Try headphones," he suggested.

"Already tried it," Tré growled.

"What about the CD player?" Billie called. "It's out in the car."

"Fine." Tré pushed open the doors and his jaw dropped. "Shit. Holy fucking shit. You guys…"

"What?" Billie asked.

"You better come see this."

Mike dropped his book and joined Billie and Tré near the door. "Motherfucking…"

Their car was falling apart. The metal frame barely remained intact, and the seats were full of holes where the rain had eaten through the upholstery.

"This fucking weather!" Billie cursed. "As if we haven't had enough already?"

The three stood in the doorway, staring hard at the car as if willing it to fix itself. But it continued to rust away before their eyes.

"How are we gonna get home?" Mike asked suddenly.

Billie gritted his teeth. "We aren't. Not on our own, at least," he bit out.

"Oh, that's just fucking fabulous! Perfect!" Tré threw his hands up angrily, storming back into the warehouse where he flopped onto his mattress, ignoring the other two.

"We're stuck here. I can't believe it," Mike muttered. "And with only two months' worth of food. Billie, you've always got a plan—what do we do?" He turned to his friend, his blue eyes searching his face hopefully. "Billie?"

But Billie could only shake his head. Because this time, for the first time in his life, Billie didn't have a plan.

McDonald's, Outer Suburban Beverly Hills

6:33 PM

Taylor, Hayley and Jeremy silently watched the rain sheeting down from the safety of a fast-food restaurant. At about four o'clock, they had realized that no one else was coming out of the school. They had walked the four miles into town in two hours. Hayley had ended up on Jeremy's back, piggy-back style, about halfway through the hike. She had been holding on admirably, biting her tongue so that her small whimpers of pain due to her injured leg couldn't be heard by the others. If they could be this brave, well, so could she.

But eventually, Jeremy had noticed. Hayley had initially been shocked by his offer that he carry her, but she soon realized that it was more than a suggestion. They had to protect each other now…after all, the only things they had left were each other.

It had begun to rain fifteen minutes after they arrived in town. They had ducked into a nearby McDonald's not a moment too soon. They had watched, shocked and disgusted, as people were caught in the downpour and literally began to dissolve away before their eyes.

None of them had really been hungry after that.

As a way of thanks, Hayley had bought them all large cups of coffee. It was tasteless, but at least it warmed their hands.

"What should we do once it's over?" Taylor finally voiced the question that all of them had been wondering in their heads.

"It depends," Jeremy said carefully.

"Depends on what?" Hayley asked.

"If our families are still alive or not."

His statement was met with silence. Hayley gaped. She hadn't even thought of that before—her only plans were of how to get home.

"We could try…calling," Taylor suggested.

Hayley perked up again. "My mother _always _keeps her cell phone on. She'll answer it. She'll come get us. We can all live at my house!"

"Hayley…" warned Jeremy. But Hayley had already pulled out her expensive cell and was dialing her mother's phone number.

The two boys watched as the young girl's facial expression changed from excitement, to confusion, to worry and finally to pure, unadulterated horror. She punched the off button violently and set the phone on the table with shaking hands. Her face was white.

"The number…is unavailable," she whispered. "That doesn't make sense. Her number is _always _available. Even when it's turned off."

Taylor put a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off and put her head on the table, her red hair flaring across the surface. Her tiny frame began to shake silently.

Their situation had just become a lot more real.

The Bennington Residence, Westchester, Los Angeles, California

6:46 PM

"Stay inside. I repeat, find shelter and stay inside at all costs. There is literally acid rain outside, and it will kill you. I'm not exaggerating."

Chester and Amy stared mutely at the radio. Above them, the rain pounded on the solid concrete, and wet dripping sounds reverberated through the room.

"I'll be here with you until it's safe to go out again—believe me, I won't be going outside anytime soon, either!" The announcer gave a small, mirthless laugh. "Based on estimates and reports from other states and countries, there has been a total of three and a half billion casualties that we know of."

Amy let out a tiny, high-pitched squeal. Chester blinked, sure he had misheard the announcer. The population of the world couldn't have _halved _in twenty-four hours…it was impossible, that many people couldn't have died!

"Yes, folks, three point five billion. You heard me right. This includes the 250 million from the USA and the 3 million from Los Angeles alone. And these are _approximate numbers. _No one knows the actual amount of deaths so far, communication is terrible and more connections are lost every minute. But for now, let's just hope it's only three and a half billion."

"Three million in LA alone!" Amy seized on the slightly more manageable number, only a fraction of the total death that had been brought on by the past day's catastrophes. "Three million, Chaz—that probably includes our families!"

Chester's face had hardened into a stoic expression, and wordlessly, he reached over and flipped off the radio. "Ignore it for now, Ames," he said softly.

"But Chester…three million people!"

"Forget it, Amy," he said more forcefully. Amy shrank back, frowning.

Chester, noticing his girlfriend's sudden discomfort, softened. He reached out for her cautiously. "Let's not worry," he whispered in her ear. "We've got each other, and that's what's important."

Slowly, she nodded and accepted his embrace, nuzzling her face into his neck. He held her tightly as they lay back down.

"Love you, Ames," he whispered. The phrase was still so unfamiliar to him. He delighted in repeating it, getting used to the words, feeling exactly how much he meant them each time he said it.

"Love you too, Chaz," Amy whispered back, pressing a delicate kiss to his neck. The small movement sent bolts of feeling through Chester's body. His heart swelled with love for the girl lying in his arms.

In that moment, they could almost forget about the world around them. In that moment, everything was perfect.

Terry's House, the Edge of California

8:38 AM

In the rearview mirror, Terry observed the girl huddled in the backseat of the boat, swathed in towels and blankets. She was young—he would estimate about seventeen at most—and small, with big brown eyes and short, wavy brown hair. She looked like a drowned rat at the moment.

She hadn't said a word since thanking him, instead sitting in silence. The only noise she made was the chattering of her teeth.

Terry never had been a talkative person to start with, and so, faced with this unfamiliar young girl, he completely clammed up. The only times he had spoken were to tell her that they were almost home and to ask if she needed anything, to which she would always mutely shake her head.

"We're home," he announced, pulling the boat up next to the dock and securing it quickly. Lacey lifted her head to look at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and fear.

"C'mon," he continued, "I bet you're freezing."

She bit her lip, watching him, and Terry could tell that she was sizing him up, trying to see if she could hold her own in a fight if that's what it came down to. Strangely, Terry realized he liked that about her. She obviously wasn't a naïve idiot—she at least tried to fend for herself.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," he told her, "and you can stay here as long as you want to. But LA's only a half-hour walk away if you've got family or friends there."

Without waiting for her answer, he turned his back on the girl he had saved and walked into his house. He had to give her time. He couldn't push her. If she wanted to, well, she'd stick with him.

Quietly, the door creaked open behind him. Terry couldn't help the smile that grew on his face.

It looked like he was having a guest for the first time in years.

A Motel, Somewhere out in the Mojave Desert

11:09 AM

"She looks fine, man, she's just a harmless old lady."

"Harmless old ladies always turn out to be the Devil in disguise in movies…" Phoenix sighed. "How did I get elected to do this anyway?"

"You _volunteered._" Mike rolled his eyes. "You said, and I quote, 'Oh look, it's just some grandma. She's no big deal."

"That was not a volunteer to go talk to her!" hissed Phoenix.

"Sure sounds like it," Rob interjected.

"I'll go with you if you do all the talking, babe," Brad offered.

Phoenix growled angrily. "I hate you all. Sleep with one eye open." But nevertheless, he grabbed Brad's hand and marched forward to the reception desk in the dirty, small lobby.

"Three connecting rooms, don't forget!" Mike called out after him.

The lobby doors swung open once again, and Joe popped up behind the pair. "No one else in the entire place," he reported. "We're the only car in the parking lot—looks like it's just us and Grandma there…"

"I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing," Mike muttered.

Brad turned around and flashed the other men a quick thumbs-up. Mike watched Phoenix take out his wallet, count some bills and confer with Brad before Brad dug out a few grubby dollar bills out of his pocket. They exchanged the money for a handful of metal keys attached to lanyards.

"Man, these look _ancient,_" Brad murmured as he passed them out. "I thought all hotels used those plastic swipe thingies these days?"

"This place doesn't exactly look like it keeps up with the times," Joe replied grimly. He led the troop of men towards a rusty elevator, jabbing the up button a couple of times before it registered and the door slid open with a squeak.

"I'm not sure I want to get in that thing…" Rob whispered to Mike under his breath.

"That's how I'm starting to feel about this entire place," Mike answered before the doors clanged shut behind him.

Mount Lee, Santa Monica Mountains, Los Angeles

8:23 PM

Against his will, Frank had finally succumbed to sleep, the rhythmic sound of Gerard's breathing and the drumbeat of the rain outside the cave his only lullaby.

The four men were oblivious to the world outside, each cocooned in his own little dream-world, ignorant of reality. There were all cold and far from protected, barely sheltered from the storm outside.

But for now, they were safe.

A Deserted Warehouse, the Mojave Desert

9:07 PM

Billie laid in the dark, listening to the acid rain drum on the tin roof. On either side of him, Tré and Mike had already been lulled into an uneasy slumber.

They hadn't come up with a plan, and so, tired, hopeless and bored, they had soon called it a night. But Billie couldn't calm his racing thoughts enough to reach slumber just yet.

He hated not having a plan. He absolutely abhorred admitting defeat and giving into the fact that they were stuck there. But somewhere in his mind, a small part kept repeating, "It could be worse."

After all, for now, they were safe.

McDonald's, Outer Suburban Beverly Hills

9:28 PM

For three hours now, Taylor, Hayley and Jeremy had sought refuge in the small McDonald's. It was empty now. They were shocked to find that it held up reasonably well against the rain, even though buildings just across the street had begun to dissolve under the constant barrage.

They were on their fifth cup of coffee each, but the caffeine was beginning to lose its touch, because they were all feeling drowsy. Hayley had dropped off first—at some point, her silent sobs had turned into snores. Taylor, too, had fallen asleep, his dark head resting next to Hayley's red one.

Jeremy knew he was about to drift off, too. But even in his drowsy state, a feeling of pride washed over him.

He had done it. He had saved lives. For now, they were safe.

The Bennington Residence, Westchester, Los Angeles, California

9:43 PM

Despite all their sleep earlier in the Day, Chester and Amy had dozed off again. The power to their basement had cut, leaving them together in absolute darkness.

It had taken Amy a while to forget about the disaster long enough to sleep, but her boyfriend's presence was, as always, a constant, calming force. His quiet humming was all she needed to slip into oblivion. He soon followed after her. The pair lay together and allowed themselves to forget the world.

There in their concrete haven, for now, they were safe.

Terry's House, the Edge of California

10:04 PM

"Thank you so much, Terry," Lacey murmured sleepily. "Seriously, I can never repay you."

"You don't have to," Terry assured her. He felt a surge of affection towards the young girl. She laid on his couch, swathed in blankets and some of his too-small clothes.

About an hour after Terry had taken Lacey in, she had opened up and began to tell him everything—who she was, where she was from, who her parents were, what her life used to be like. He had listened attentively to every word. When she was done, he promised her that for as long as she needed it, there was a place for her here.

"Try to sleep," he told her. A moment later, he could hear her soft snores.

Terry breathed a sigh of relief. He felt overwhelming gladness that he had been able to make a difference in someone's life, that he had been able to help the disaster after all.

For now, they were safe.

A Motel, Somewhere out in the Mojave Desert

10:35 PM

Mike laid in the darkness, concentrating on Rob's breathing from the bed next to him. His thoughts were going a mile a minute.

"We did it, Mike," Rob murmured. Mike jumped, startled. He hadn't realized that Rob was still awake.

"Did what?" he whispered back.

"Survived the apocalypse," Rob replied. "Well, probably."

"I think we'll be fine," Mike reassured him, yawning. Rob didn't speak again.

But they both believed wholeheartedly in Mike's words. For now, they were safe.

_~~~END OF PART ONE~~~_


	5. Everybody Wants to Change the World

**Hey guys...did you miss me? xP I'm posting this real quick, since I'm feeling shitty right now, but have fun reading!**

**(Oh, and about Our December? I'm throwing up and in bed with the flu, so hopefully I'll get around to that when I feel better)**

CHAPTER 5: EVERYBODY WANTS TO CHANGE THE WORLD

March 01, 2013

New World Plaza, Battery City, California

3:39 PM

"Remind us why we're here again," Frank grumbled.

The four men stood in the center of the overcrowded plaza, buffeted on all sides by other human bodies. Above them, affixed to the fronts of the five new towering apartment buildings, were massive video screens showing blown-up versions of the podium in front of the crowd.

"We're here in protest," explained Gerard for the third time. He gestured to the cardboard-and-paint sign he had balanced at his feet, the side with writing carefully turned out of view. "We're protesting the new government in a public arena, remember?"

"You and your fucking protests," Mikey groaned. "Like anyone will pay attention to a bunch of dirty, practically homeless, law-evading teenage boys."

"Ah, but that's the point!" Gerard grinned. "No one would pay attention to _us_—but they'll _have _to notice the signs!"

"This isn't going to work," his brother admonished. "I don't think—"

But a sudden roar from the massive crowd cut him off. The four boys watched as a diminutive older Japanese man in a gray business suit mounted the three steps onto the raised platform, escorted by eight hulking six-foot-tall bodyguards equipped with automatic machine guns.

"Oh good, it's finally starting," Ray commented.

The Japanese businessman raised a hand, and everyone fell silent. He smiled genially.

"Hello, citizens of Battery City," he greeted in stilted, heavily accented English. This elicited more cheers from the gathered people, and he had to cough into the microphone to quiet them.

"Fuck you," Frank muttered. Gerard nodded, but Mikey hissed, "Shut up before somebody hears you!"

"Today is a joyous occasion," the Japanese man announced. "Before you stand the first construction projects completed since Day Zero!"

He paused then to let his words sink in, and the crowd rejoiced. Over the cheers, he shouted, "And all of this was planned, funded, and executed by your new government, Better Living Industries!"

The screens broadcasted shots of the ecstatic gathering: a couple embracing, a group of men pumping their fists, a young child cheering from her perch atop her father's shoulders. The last image stuck in Gerard's mind, steeling his nerve and making him seethe with anger. How was it that they could brainwash even these young, impressionable children? It wasn't right!

Gerard poked Ray in the side and hissed, "Now!"

Without hesitation, the two began to cheer exuberantly, startling the people around them. Frank and Mikey soon caught on and began to shriek too.

"We're not getting on the screens!" Ray muttered. "This whole thing will be pointless if we don't get up there!"

"Then it's time for part two," Gerard grinned and hoisted Frank onto his shoulders.

"What the fuck?" Frank wailed, holding onto Gerard's head for dear life. "Put me down, Gee!"

But they'd done it. One of the video screens filled with Frank's face, and he rearranged his expression into one of joy.

"Give him the sign, Mikey!" Gerard whispered. "Now!"

So Gerard's painstakingly hand-lettered sign was passed from Mikey to Ray to Frank, who lifted it above his head and began to boo.

And on the video screens, before the controllers could switch the camera feed, the angry words were broadcasted to the crowd. _BL/ind Brainwashes, _it said.

A technician frantically changed the screen to the Japanese man's face, but the crowd had taken notice. The excited shouts began to turn confused and angry. Frank watched as hundreds of heads swiveled to face him and the sign.

He swallowed dryly, knowing what came next.

"Down with the dictatorship!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. Gerard's grip on his legs tightened in encouragement. He glanced down, and his best friend smiled widely at him.

"You can do it, Frankie!" he said softly.

A warm feeling spread through Frank. "Don't believe the BL/ind lies! They are not the type of government we need in our new world!" Beneath him, Gerard, Mikey and Ray cheered loudly.

"We've been given a chance to start over!" At this, he garnered a few cheers from those listening to him. "Is this the kind of start you want for your new life? Are these the people you want controlling you?"

"Good job, Frankie. You can get down now," Gerard murmured.

But Frank was having too much fun. The crowd had begun to catch on, and a good number were actually shouting their support.

"We don't want our lives told to us by a council in a meeting room, do we?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted ripples of movement, disturbed people being pushed apart.

"We don't want our every movement dictated, do we?"

"Get down here, Frank," Gerard said through gritted teeth.

"We don't want Better Living Industries as our new government, do we?"

"I'm putting you down," Gerard warned. The crowd ripples had grown larger, and Frank could clearly see three of the white-suited police agents, nicknamed Draculoids for their vampirish appearance, moving towards them.

"Down with Better Living Industries!" Frank screamed before he felt Gerard crouch down below him. He stepped off his shoulders and immediately began to shove through the shell-shocked people.

Cheers broke out in the plaza, but Frank was running. He turned back quickly and saw Gerard sprinting after him. Ray and Mikey were nowhere in sight.

"Just run!" Gerard yelled at his best friend, catching p to him and grabbing his hand forcefully. "C'mon, Frank, the Dracs are right behind us!"

Frank elbowed his way through a group of teenage girls, who turned to stare at them as they passed. "Down with the government!" one of them giggled.

Frank shot a quick flirty smile at her and he heard her squeal as they ran by. The squeal cut off halfway, though, and turned into a high-pitched, muffled scream.

"Drac got her," Gerard observed grimly.

A brief wave of regret washed over Frank. The girl hadn't done anything, after all—it wasn't her fault that he'd chosen to run by her at that moment.

"We should go back and help her," he yelled over the sound of the cheering.

"Are you crazy?" Gerard shouted. "We're barely gonna get out alive ourselves! We don't have _time _to worry about anyone else!"

He pushed past another wall of people, turning a sharp left at the sight of a white suit. They were now running towards the back of the plaza, where the crowd flowed out and down side streets jutting away from the heart of Battery City.

"Don't look back, we've got five Dracs with those weird supped-up guns following us," muttered Gerard.

With a final burst of speed, the pair burst out of the square in the center of the city and into a dark street. The sound of their footsteps filled their ears, bouncing off the walls as they ran.

Gerard veered into an alley, and Frank followed him, picking his way past pieces of debris left from Day Zero. He was tugged into a dark doorway and he pressed himself against the wall, trying to make himself invisible.

"Do you think they're gone?" whispered Gerard quietly.

Slowly, Frank poked his head out of the doorway, glancing both ways. The alley was empty, but nearby, shouts of 'Where'd they go?' rang through the street.

"We're fine for now," he responded.

Gerard relaxed and slid down the wall, letting himself hit the ground with a _thump. _He ran a hand through his black hair and sighed. "That was fucking close."

"Too fucking close," Frank agreed. "I think we got the point across this time—can we stop endangering our lives now?"

They laughed quietly. "It's such a rush, though," Gerard murmured happily. "Don't you love it?"

"Don't I love running from the law?" Frank questioned incredulously. "Are you crazy?"

"Not just the running…the feeling that you're _doing _something, something that'll help the world." He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the brick. "I can't explain it. It just feels like something I have to do."

But despite his friend's sparse description, Frank understood what he was trying to say. He felt it too. They all hated the new government that had sprung up seemingly out of nowhere only a month after Day Zero. The word was that Takashime Arashi, the president of BL/ind, and his army of businessmen were refugees from Japan. If it was true, they would be the only known Japanese people left in the world—the nation had sunken below the waves, ripped apart by massive earthquakes on December twenty-first.

All that anybody knew for sure was that thirty of them had show up in a wooden fishing boat on the Santa Monica beach a few days after the apocalypse and somehow had taken control. It had been a quiet takeover, and they _had _done good things for the less than one million people left in the broken shell of Los Angeles—those apartment buildings, for instance, had been rebuilt from the remains of other fallen buildings and could house nearly three thousand currently homeless people.

But what precious few people saw was that BL/ind's evil far outweighed any good it did. It had instituted too many harsh, unnecessary laws against trivial things, such as what to wear or how to act. They were slowly turning California into a dictatorship, but the population was too grateful to them for what they had already done in the aftermath to try and displace them before it grew out of hand.

That's exactly what Frank, Gerard, Ray and Mikey had been trying to do for nearly a month now: enlighten the public. Somehow, though, their schemes always ended in them running away from an army of Draculoids.

Gerard's phone beeped and he slid it out of his pocket. "Mikey and Ray are at Rendezvous point B,: he told Frank. "They couldn't get to A—the place is swarming with Dracs right now." Rendezvous point B was where Spaceland Rock Club had stood before the apocalypse. The name always carried a bittersweet taste for the boys nowadays, as it had been their favorite hangout before it was burned down.

Frank checked the alley again. The shouts had faded away into the distance and both ends were empty as far as he could see. "All clear," he muttered.

They darted out into the alley, running fast and hugging the wall. For nearly three blocks, they ran, turning corners at breakneck speed and dodging fallen pieces of buildings.

Gerard turned another corner and skidded to a halt, jerking Frank back into the street they were just on and pressing himself flat against the wall. His breathing was heavy but quiet. "Draculoid," he mouthed to Frank silently.

Frank nodded, holding his breath to keep himself silent. The sound of his heartbeat filled his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut to keep from passing out. When he opened them again, a pair of Draculoids with massive white rifles were passing in front of the opening to the street, their eyes fixed to the street ahead of them. They didn't glance sideways, to his immense relief. Instead, they turned down the next side street they passed.

"Quick," Frank whispered. He snuck out and inched along the wall, keeping completely silent. The four had found over the course of their brushes with the law that the Draculoids had supersensitive sight and hearing, making it even harder to keep evading them as they did on a daily basis.

Frank finally found the alleyway that led to the club and gratefully stopped to heave a loud sigh, hidden out of sight. Gerard followed behind him, exhausted but none the worse for wear.

"Good job," Gerard panted, hunched over with his hands on his knees. He smiled at Frank brightly.

"Team effort," Frank responded. "And we should get the other half of our team and get the fuck out of here. I think we've almost died enough times for one day."

The pair walked down the alley slowly, thankful that for once, they didn't have to run from anything. The silhouette of two boys began to become visible, dark spots against the sun shining through the mouth of the alley, as they neared the end.

"Gerard Way, you are such a fucking _idiot!_" Mikey spat as soon as they were within hearing range.

"Glad to see you're okay, too," Gerard called back. "I was so very worried about my darling brother!"

Mikey rolled his eyes. "We could have gotten _killed _back there! Gerard, this has to stop. Now. We can't keep doing this."

"Can we please talk about this later?" the older boy groaned. "Like when we get home?"

"We don't _have _a home!" Mikey exclaimed angrily. Ray nodded, his expression stoic, but kept silent.

"Neither do most of the people left in Los Angeles!" Gerard argued. And it was true—out of the 116 thousand people who had remained in the city, at least one hundred thousand still didn't have a permanent residence. Almost all of the buildings in the area had been made unusable by fire and acid rain.

Mikey gritted his teeth. "If _someone _had gotten their goddamn act together, we could have been moving into those new apartment buildings today rather than protesting them! We can't go on living this way—sooner or later, they'll stop ignoring us and we're gonna die! If we don't run out of food or die of cold first, of course!"

"Mikey, stop it!" yelled Gerard. "You don't think I'm doing the best I can already?"

"Obviously not!" Mikey shouted back. He took a step closer to his older brother so that they were almost chest to chest. Although Gerard was three years older, Mikey still had to look down at him.

Frank shot Ray a frightened look. Gerard and Mikey had argued before—what brothers hadn't?—but they had never been in a physical fight with each other. None of them had. They were supposed to be each others' support system.

Gerard, too, was obviously thinking something similar, because he took a step back, holding up his hands in surrender. "I don't want to fight with you, Mikey," he said softly.

Mikey stared tensely down at his brother for a moment, hands curled into fists at his sides, before relaxing. The tension drained from his shoulders and he turned away. "Sorry, Gee," he muttered. "I don't know what I was thinking."

"It's fine." Gerard took a deep, calming breath. "After all, everything you said is true."

At this, the rest of the boys looked back at him, shock evident in their eyes.

Gerard shrugged. "I'm sorry I've put you all through this. It's not fair on you, and God knows how fucking dangerous it is. You don't have to keep doing it if you don't want to. I won't blame you. In fact, it'd probably be better for you three if I disassociated myself from you entirely."

"Gee!" Frank cried out. "You're not _serious,_ are you?"

"I'm as fucking serious as a heart attack," he responded.

Frank's jaw dropped, and Ray shook his head emphatically, frowning. "Gerard, you aren't just _leaving,_" he said. "We don't want you to leave. I'm not going to let you leave."

"We all know the Dracs want me more than any of you—I'm putting you all in danger," Gerard argued.

Ray stared him down. "We are a family. You said it yourself the day after Day Zero. You support us, and we support you—no matter what you choose to do."

"And we hate BL/ind just as much as you do," Frank piped up. "Even if you leave, we're not going to stop fighting them."

"We're in this together. Till the end," stated Ray.

"That's…" Gerard smirked, but his gratitude was evident in his face. "That's really fucking cheesy, you guys."

"If that's what it takes to keep us together," Ray shrugged.

A slight smile grew on Gerard's face, and he walked forward to stand with his best friends. "And I do promise I'll tone down the protests—it was getting kind of out of hand, anyway."

"Deal." Ray grinned.

The four set out down the street, thankful to be walking and not running from anything for once. They hadn't had a permanent home in months, but they moved from area to area, always searching for somewhere relatively warm and, most importantly, with some form of food. Right now they were based out of an abandoned, half-destroyed shopping mall, which was by far the best place they had stayed—the Sleepy's mattress store was still intact, next to the food court. While most of the food had gone bad or had been contaminated by the rain, a fair amount of non-perishables remained—enough for at least three months if they were careful. It wasn't the best, but it was definitely better than what most of the people in the city had at the moment.

The four passed by the sad community of homeless children that had grown outside an old subway station near to the mall. They usually had to walk by them to get back to their base, and it always made them depressed. Normally, there were about ten there, but today, only three remained—a small red-haired girl and two boys, one brunette and one dirty blonde.

"Hey." Mikey gave a small wave. He, especially, had always been worried about them and would sometimes bring them food he had found in the mall—even if it meant he had to eat less. "Where'd everyone else go?"

"They're all at the celebration for the new apartment buildings," the older boy told him. "They heard there was food there, but we thought it was too dangerous." Beside him, the redhead shivered and nodded along with his words.

"We don't trust BL/ind," she said quietly. "I mean, why should we?" She shivered again, moreviolently this time, and the movement wracked her entire body. She winced.

"Very true," Gerard agreed, nodding. "What have they ever done for any of us?"

The girl smiled weakly. "Exactly." The four couldn't help but notice how painfully thin she was as she spoke.

"How old are you?" Mikey asked suddenly.

"Twelve," she replied. "Why?"

"N-no reason…" he stuttered, before turning away and walking back towards the mall in the distance. He desperately tried to control his shaking shoulders. "Come on, guys. We should get back."

"Er…okay." The other three said a quick goodbye to the kids before running to catch up with Mikey.

"Dude, what was that?" Frank murmured as soon as they were out of hearing range.

Mikey turned to look at his friends, and they were shocked to see a tear lingering in the corner of his eye. "That girl," he said angrily. "Her. She's why I want to keep fighting BL/ind as much as I can."

"Mikey…" Ray said quietly.

"She's twelve fucking years old!" he burst out. "Did you hear her?" It isn't fair. It isn't _right!_"

His words had shocked his companions. Mikey was the calm, reserved one. He never let his emotions get the best of him. And yet now, twice in one day, he had become angrier than they'd ever seen him.

"Don't let me stop protesting, Gerard," he begged. "No matter how dangerous it gets. Just remind me about that girl, and I swear I'll never back down again."

"Um…alright," Gerard agreed to his brother's strange request.

They walked through the shattered glass-door entryway to the mall, picking their way over trash and pieces of building scattered around the entrance. To everyone's surprise, Mikey veered off towards an unexplored part of the ruined mall rather than following the rest to the no-longer-functioning escalator that led to their temporary home.

"He probably just needs some time to think, poor kid," Frank murmured, watching his friend's receding figure.

"Don't we all," sighed Ray.


	6. Silence is the Enemy so Gimme Revolution

**Hey everyone :D so this is not on-schedule, but it's early, so that's a good thing, right? I had some time on my hands this past week due to a lack of homework and similar shit (break started today 333) plus I'm excited for this story and I've gotten up through chapter 14 written, so... Anyway, enjoy it! 3**

CHAPTER 6: SILENCE IS THE ENEMY SO GIMME REVOLUTION

March 01, 2013

Route 15, The Mojave Desert, California

3:51 PM

Billie hadn't realized how much he had missed driving until he was in a car again. He poured on the gas pedal, sending the white car shooting down the broken, deserted road to wherever it felt like taking them.

"Billie, slow down!" Mike screamed from the backseat, but the words were snatched from his mouth by the wind roaring past them at nearly a hundred miles per hour.

Tré, meanwhile, was cheering exuberantly in the passenger seat. He stuck his arm out the window as if he was a child.

It had been pure luck that just as they had run out of food, an abandoned car had shown up at a strange building they had found on one of their near-daily expeditions around their new home. Mike had somehow, miraculously, figured out how to hotwire it—he really was a genius—and finally, Billie had gotten the plan he had been searching for for nearly three months now.

The car had solved all their problems. At their warehouse, they had both been connected to the outside world and yet somehow existing outside of it—they knew about the existence of the new government, but it didn't yet know about them. And for that they were extremely grateful.

But now, not only could they go replenish their food supplies whenever they felt like it, they could go see firsthand how Better Living Industries was taking over their new world. The one radio station that they had managed to find during the disaster had suddenly, two months after the apocalypse, began to broadcast positive-reinforcement messages sponsored by the mysterious company. They sounded like brainwashing to the three men who knew absolutely nothing about what was going on outside their desert.

Then, a few days later, they got their TV network back—and it was just the same. Slowly, all the channels were taken over by the BL/ind logo, until there was nothing to watch except biased, bland news shows that would only say how everything was under control and commercials featuring a young, pretty Asian woman with short inspirational messages.

Bit by bit, they had begun to realize that something wasn't right in the city. They'd been curious about it, but they hadn't had a way to get back until that point.

But that was all different now.

For the first time in three months, Billie guided the car onto the freeway leading into their no-longer-home city. It was empty, with no sign of life anywhere that they could see, and potholed and ruptured—from earthquakes or rain, they couldn't be sure. Far in the horizon, jagged spires rose from the ground, marking the ruined, near-desolate site of what used to be one of the biggest cities on Earth.

Well, from what they'd heard, it still was. BL/ind's broadcasts weren't _completely _useless. From one news segment, they had learned that the world population had decreased to about 101 million people, nearly one seventieth of what it used to be. Those people had bonded together in nine different major places spread across the globe: London, Shanghai, Rio de Janeiro, Johannesburg, New York…and Lost Angeles. Most of western United States, Canada and Mexico had flocked to California, swelling its' population to nearly nine million people. Although only one hundred and seventeen lived in the city proper, BL/ind exercised control over all nine million survivors.

Billie, Tré and Mike were almost certain that they hadn't been included in the nine million when it was counted. As far as BL/ind was concerned, they didn't exist. Nobody knew that they'd survived.

The car screeched off the freeway and onto the road that so long ago the three men had left the city by. The streets were full of vehicles parked on the sides, but none were moving. The sidewalks were similarly deserted.

"This is fucking creepy," Tré muttered, glancing around the ghost city. "Where is everyone?"

"No idea, man," replied Billie. He steered the car onto another street so that they were headed towards the part of the city where their apartment building used to stand.

A dull roar rose around them as they continued towards the heart of the desolate city. The sidewalks became more populated, people walking briskly all headed in the same direction.

"I think we found the people," Mike commented as they turned into a plaza.

It was massive, blockaded on all sides so that no vehicles could enter. In front of the barriers stood tall men in white suits, gun holsters prominent at their sides. And beyond the white suits—people, as far as they could see.

"Ho-ly fuck," Billie exclaimed, drawing out the first syllable.

"That's a lot of people," Tré agreed.

Billie parked the car where it was, trying to be silent so as not to attract the attention of the white-suits—he couldn't be sure what exactly they were, but they wore the BL/ind logo on their jackets, and they definitely looked like bad news—before standing up to get a better view. Mike raised a hand to his eyes as if it would help him see the sea of bodies better.

"I think we found Better Living, too," he said.

It was only then that Billie and Tré noticed the massive video screens, all focused on the now-familiar face of Takashime Arashi, president of Better Living Industries.

"Yeah, I think we have," Billie grinned.

Five minutes later, they had managed to sneak underneath one of the barricades close to the front of the stage and past the strange white-suited men. The crowd seemed to be in an uproar, all facing away from the front and towards a spot near the back of the square. Many were yelling angrily and some even shouted threats at the men on stage.

Behind the BL/ind podium, the president was making frantic silencing motions, waving his hands wildly and even shouting into the microphone for quiet. The rebellious crowd refused to shut up, though.

"Are either of you getting the feeling that we just missed something big?" Tré asked the others.

"Something fucking massive," Mike agreed, nodding. He turned back to Arashi, who had finally managed to calm the crowd enough to shout, "Better Living Industries works for the people!"

The people fell silent, staring at him as if in a trance.

"Why'd it just get so quiet?" whispered Billie.

"Look at the guards," Mike murmured back.

Slowly, Billie and Tré turned to look at the white suits at the edges of the gathering. Every single one had pulled their white guns from their holsters and had them pointed out and into the plaza.

The mass of bodies crushed inwards almost instantaneously, shrinking away from the sudden threat of danger. Tré instinctively shied away, pressing himself into Mike like a scared child, and let out a small squeal.

"Thank you." President Arashi smiled benevolently. "Better Living only wants to do what is best for the people. We have your safety and well-being in mind."

"Where the fuck does this dude get off?" Billie murmured angrily. He felt a painful jab in his side, and Mike whispered "Don't move, you've got a white suit with a gun trained on you. I think he wants you to shut the fuck up."

Billie's mouth clamped shut and he focused on arranging his face into a blank expression, staring straight ahead.

"This, of course, is why we have organized and funded the repair of Hawthorne Towers, the new home of three thousand of Better Living Industries' faithful civilians!" Arashi exclaimed. "No longer will they live in ruined, dangerous shells of buildings! Because they have pledged their allegiance to us, because they have agreed to work for the company and to abide by our laws, they have been greatly rewarded, as you can be too!"

In one seamless, fluid motion, the guards sheathed their guns. A few people tentatively began to cheer again, and Arashi beamed. "In time, you too will be able to live in Better Living apartments! Let your new government take care of you—we are here for your benefit, after all."

"You have got to be kidding me," Billie gasped. But nevertheless, cheers began to swell around them at the Japanese man's words.

"I officially declare Hawthorne Towers open for residency!" the president shouted, spreading his arms wide.

And the mass was really cheering now, shrieking exuberantly about the company and the good it was doing in the world. Arashi smirked like a proud parent and stepped off the podium, surrounded by his large group of bodyguards. White-suited policemen parted to allow the ecstatic swarm to filter past and down any of the hundred side streets leading away from the area. Mike, Tré and Billie felt themselves being swept along in the opposite direction from their vehicle by the crush of humans, and although they fought to go the other direction, they were pushed past the ruined edge of the city block and onto another, thankfully recognizable to them, street that had once held office buildings and skyscrapers.

They all began talking at once as soon as they were out of earshot of the police. Their words were indistinguishable from each others', but together sounded like a mix of 'what the—that didn't—utter bullshit—brainwashing—don't believe—motherfucker."

"How could anyone believe that?" Mike asked rhetorically. "I mean, one minute they had guns trained on us, and then they're _cheering?_"

"It's cause that Arashi guy is a grade A bullshitter," responded Tré bitterly.

"This is way worse than what we've seen already," Billie mused, disregarding his friend's comment. "We can't let this continue…can we?"

"We shouldn't, but that doesn't mean we can do anything about it," Mike said grimly.

"Well, why the fuck not?" Billie stopped walking suddenly, prompting angry shouts from the people behind him as they tried to get past the sudden block in the traffic flow.

"What do you mean?" Mike asked curiously, turning back to him.

"We've got a webcam and microphone on the laptop. We've got connections to a major television network. We've got a radio transmitter, and hell, we've got more than enough ideas. We could start a revolution." Billie began to talk faster as his idea picked up speed. "A web show, a network hack, a radio broadcast—if the right people hear it, then who knows what the effects could be?"

"I do—it'd get us killed," Tré said flatly.

Billie rolled his eyes. "Seriously, lighten up for once. This could be fun, and even better, we could make a difference! And if there's one thing in this world that needs to be fixed…"

"It's BL/ind," Mike and Tré chorused.

"Exactly." Billie grinned.

"Billie, you've got way too many ideas." Tré slugged his friend in the arm jokingly. "But you've got a point there, dude."

Mike, though, sighed heavily. "Food first, saving the world later," he stated.

"Truer words have never been spoken," Tré agreed, smiling brightly.

The three began moving again, allowing themselves to be swept along in the flowing crowd. When it finally thinned out enough for them to break away, they found themselves in front of their own apartment building. Or, more specifically, the place that _used _to be their old apartment building.

They had prepared themselves for this, just by walking through the ruined, fire-ravaged city where not one single building had been left whole from the disaster. But somehow, they'd retained the idea in some deep recess of their minds that their old home had been passed over, left untouched by whatever freak accident had caused the fire in the first place. So the sight of the ruined husk shocked the three men into reverent silence.

There was literally nothing left. The apartment building had been burned to the ground.

"Jesus," Tré whispered, craning his neck up as if he were still expecting to see the familiar façade magically looming over them. Mike turned away. He didn't want to see the physical evidence that they had nothing left in the world but their warehouse and its' contents.

But Billie, after throwing a cursory glance at the wreck, forced himself to continue on and away.

"Dude, what are you doing?" Tré yelled after him.

"Going to look for food, what does it look like I'm doing?" Billie called over his shoulder.

Tré glanced at Mike, who looked just as mystified as him, before running after his friend. "But—but _why?_"

"Well, why the fuck not?" he asked breezily.

"Our apartment…" Tré gestured helplessly.

"Our apartment in the _past,_" Billie clarified. "It means nothing to us anymore. It can't help us now."

"But shouldn't we at least check if there's anything left?"

"Does it _look _like there's anything left?" he asked.

Mike finally caught up with them, his face red from running. "What is your _problem_?" he puffed.

"Hey, it was your idea to get food," Billie retorted. "How long were you planning on staring at a demolished building, anyway?"

"He's probably just hungry and that's why he's acting weird," Tré muttered to Mike.

But it was more than that. The idea of a rebellion had gripped the young man's mind, and suddenly, he was full of ideas. He wanted to get their time in the city over with so that they could get back to the warehouse and actually put some of his plans into action. But, as Mike had said, food first—it was important, too.

But where were they going to get food in this place?

Two hours later, they were still asking themselves the same question.

"We've checked every supermarket, convenience store, restaurant and mall in this mile radius," Mike groaned. "Now what are we supposed to do? It'll be dark soon!"

"Give up and come back tomorrow?" Tré suggested. At that moment, his stomach made a loud, unpleasant gurgling sound. "Alright, forget that idea."

"We could head out into the residential areas," Billie offered. "You'd think there would be something _there…_"

"Ooh, we should go find a Twinkie factory! Everyone knows that Twinkies can survive _anything, _even the apocalypse!" Tré clapped his hands excitedly.

Mike shot him a weary look. "You've been watching too much Family Guy."

"No, but seriously…"

Tré continued his mindless babbling as they made their way back to the car, while Mike and Billie attempted to carry on their conversation and figure out what to do about the food shortage.

"We could check the grocery stores in the suburbs, I heard they didn't get hit too bad," Mike murmured while in front of them, Tré performed an action something akin to skipping while singing "Twinkies, twinkies, twinkies!"

"Would you _shut up?_" Mike snapped finally. Tré frowned at him and muttered something like 'Killjoy' before sulking off ahead.

"Killjoy," Billie repeated.

"What did you say?" Mike asked halfheartedly.

"Killjoy…it's a pretty cool word, isn't it?" The raven haired man smirked. "It just sounds so…badass. Killjoy."

Mike laughed. "Oh yeah, totally badass. Have fun with that."

"No, seriously! It's like, so in-your-face, y'know?"

"No, Billie, I really don't know."

"You don't get it," sighed Billie.

Mike frowned at him, staring him in the eyes. "Are you feeling okay? You've been acting weird all day."

"I'm completely fine. I'm much better than fine, in fact." Billie's grin grew wider and his eyes glowed with inspiration.

"Is this about the whole 'fuck-the-police' movement you're trying to start?" Tré, who had obviously been listening in on the conversation, called out.

"I think I'd rather call it the Killjoy movement," Billie specified.

His friends chuckled, trying to hide their mirth from him. "And how do you plan on starting this movement?" Mike asked.

"That depends on how much you guys are willing to do."

During the drive to the suburbs, the hunt for edible food, the time it took to stock said food into their car—they even found Tré a few boxes of slightly crushed Twinkies—and part of the drive back to the warehouse, Billie outlined all of his multitude of plans in great detail. Most of them were illogical and dangerous, and Mike pointed this out when they were. But a few actually held some basis in truth. Tré fell asleep near the second-to-last plan, which involved stealing a prototype gun from the BL/ind headquarters ('crazy, dangerous and fucking impossible,' Mike had told a disappointed Billie) and by the time his friend had finally talked himself out, Mike, too, was feeling exhausted, although he had to stay awake since he was driving the car.

"…and so we'd recruit maybe a hundred people, give them the weapons, and storm the building!" Billie was practically bouncing in his seat. "That's my favorite one."

"is that your last one, too?" Mike asked tiredly.

"For now, yes," he answered.

"Then don't feel bad when I tell you that most of those ideas were complete and utter bullshit."

But, in typical Billie fashion, he seized on to only the positive part of his friend's remark. "So some of them were good?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"Then will you help me with them?" he asked excitedly, his eyes shining with anticipation.

"Billie, I really don't know—"

"I just need you to do the tech stuff and logistics—y'know, all the smart person stuff. It won't be hard, I swear, and it wouldn't be dangerous at all for you—"

"Billie!" Mike finally burst, making him snap into sudden silence.

"Yes?" he asked meekly.

"Which plan do you want me to help you with? Specifically?"

"Well, I'm not sure what's exactly going to work…" he mused. "Which ones do you think will work best?"

"I'd go for the television or the Internet one, personally, they seem like the safest," he answered carefully.

"Or the radio show," said Billie. "That one seems pretty impactful."

"Nobody listens to the radio anymore," Mike said, rolling his eyes.

"Correction." Billie raised a finger. "Only the counterculture kids listen to the radio anymore."

And what he said was true—every radio channel that wasn't BL/ind-run had been shut down during or after Day Zero, save a single alternative rock station with a pair of DJs who, according to their narratives on-air, had continue d to run it from their basement using their iTunes libraries. And people definitely still listened to them—they had gotten plenty of calls recommending and requesting music, which they always broadcasted.

"Just think about it," he said. "The alt kids are the ones that are most likely to want to rebel, if we're going with the stereotype of people who listen to that kind of stuff. They're also probably young, but old enough to make their own decisions and understand the problems with the new government. Out of anyone, I'd say that they're the ones who would most likely spread the word, or even just give a shit about what we're talking about."

Although Mike hated to admit it, Billie's argument was making perfect sense.

"And all we need to do is light the fuse," he continued, picking up steam. "The city's a ticking time bomb of compressed anger and fighting—did you notice that crowd today? They were pretty riled up, I think…"

"I see where you're going," Mike said, nodding. He watched as the warehouse appeared on the horizon, and he allowed his foot to lift off the gas pedal a bit more to prolong the drive. "But do you really think that we're not going to get caught? They can trace stuff like radio signals, you know."

"Then we can set up the equipment station somewhere else and drive out to make broadcasts," he shrugged.

"You've got an answer for everything, don't you?" Mike chuckled.

"Of course I do!" Billie beamed proudly. "D'you think it'll work?"

"I think…" Mike paused, trying to figure out how to phrase his next sentence. If he said it wrong, he knew how overexcited his friend could get, and he definitely didn't want to give Billie any premature ideas about freeing the world just yet. But hell, he definitely wanted to help his friend. "I think that if we try, it couldn't hurt," he said finally.

"Really?" Billie's reaction was exactly the same as that of a young child being told that they were getting a puppy. "Thank you so much, Mike!"

"Hey, hey, I didn't say I knew how to set it up or anything," his friend chuckled. But in his heart, he realized that he had already committed to making the plan happen.

"Hey, what about me?" Tré's sleepy voice rose from the backseat. "I want in, too!"

"Of course, did you think we'd forget you?" giggled Billie. "You can be the DJ—no, we could all be DJs! We could each have our own radio show at different times of day, and codenames so Better Living can't track us, and we could…"

And he was off again on one of his tangents, babbling about the finer points of the radio and how it could grow into a secret underground movement.

And the funny thing was, as he talked, the three people in the car began to realize that it was actually going to happen—every last bit of it—if they had anything to do with it.


	7. Take These Chances We'll Make it Somehow

**Alright...I dunno what to write for the A/N this time xDD So I'll answer all your reviews, which I have gotten into the habit of not doing...I'm such a bad author...**

**Anyway, enjoy! xD**

CHAPTER 7: TAKE THESE CHANCES, WE'LL MAKE IT SOMEHOW

March 1, 2013

A Subway Stop in Battery City, California

4:27 PM

Before the apocalypse, Hayley's parents had been very religious. She'd been a good little Christian daughter, going to church on Sunday mornings and saying her prayers every night. You'd think that she would stop believing in God after witnessing such disaster and trauma in her new life, but she continued to say her prayers before she slept. She thanked God, first and foremost, for Jeremy and Taylor, who by now she considered her brothers even more than if they were related by blood. She then thanked Him for food, if she had eaten that day, or to ask for some the next day if she hadn't. She thanked Him for the boys at the mall, especially the tall, handsome brunette one who would smile at her every day and even give her things he'd found at his hideout that might help her. But mostly, she thanked Him for keeping her alive.

Because although she was starving, malnourished, freezing and struggling to get through each day intact and still with some semblance of happiness, she was alive. Which was more than most of the pre-December 21st population could say.

Really, they weren't any worse off than most of the people in the city nowadays. Hardly anyone had an actual permanent residence, save Better Living employees, the people with the new apartment buildings, and those lucky few whose homes had survived the disaster at least partly intact and inhabitable. They and a few other orphans from different schools had met up a few a few days afterwards in the rushed aftermath where everyone was trying to find out what had happened to family, friends and homes. The group—eight boys and two girls, including Hayley, Taylor and Jeremy—had wandered around like lost puppies looking for guidance before setting up camp in the mouth of an abandoned subway station (the underground portion had collapsed, presumably due to the aftershock of earthquakes elsewhere along the coast.) Then, about a month later, they had come home from one of their near-daily food scavenging trips to find their home had been buried under a mountain of rubble. The structure apparently hadn't been as sturdy as it had seemed.

So they had moved onto the street front a few feet away, with no desire to lug the items they had scavenged any farther. Hayley was aware of how closely their small community resembled that of a group of hobos—but essentially, that's what they were. Starving hobo orphans.

Despite it all, everyone in their group maintained an unusually high amount of cheer. The other girl, Sierra, and her two best friends Blake and Nick weren't even seven years old yet, but were adorable and hopeful kids with surprising resilience. As for the other four boys, Alex, Jack, Rian and Zack, they were savvy, thrifty and optimistic, the exact kind of person you'd want with you if you were living on the streets and scavenging or stealing food to stay alive.

But still, Hayley was the most thankful for Taylor and Jeremy. They were the brothers she had grown up without, but had always wanted. They were the ones she had spent both her days and her nights with, who she had grown to know better than anyone else, who, in turn, protected her from everybody else in this crazy world that they had suddenly found themselves thrown into. She would never be able to thank them enough.

At the moment, it was just the three of them, as it often was these days. The older boys had dragged Sierra, Blake and Nick to watch the opening for Hawthorne Towers, the new construction project that BL/ind had completed abnormally quickly. Hayley didn't trust BL/ind, and she knew that Taylor and Jeremy didn't, either. Nevertheless, Jack had heard a rumor that they would be giving out food at the rally, and once Jack got an idea into his head, it was hard to get him to give up on it. So they had all gone, leaving Hayley and her two boys alone at their dirty home base.

They weren't having a particularly good day, although Hayley's had been made incrementally better by a visit from mister Tall, Dark and Nameless from the mall. He didn't seem to be in a particularly good mood, either. The young girl wondered if it had been something she said. Difficult to tell, though—she hadn't said much at all. She was sure her day was worse than his had been, though. He, at least, had food and somewhere with a kind of roof over his head. He and his friends must have been some of the quicker ones to nab one of the inhabitable buildings straight away. All of the suburban houses' basements, famed for being the best place to live right now, had been commandeered by Better Living as soon as they had taken over California.

It was a shame, too. The ten of them would have shared a basement just fine and had room left over. The roof, the shelter from weather, and the possible promise of a heater would have made all the difference to them. Hayley even would have settled for a coat at this point. Surprisingly, she hadn't been able to find one un-mangled by the disaster yet.

"Hayley?" Taylor called out softly, breaking the slight daze she had been in as she watched Jeremy continue to try (and fail) to light a fire in a tin can stuffed with newspaper.

"Hmm?" she answered absently.

"You okay?" he asked.

She turned to look him in his eyes, which she had slowly watched lose their spark and vitality over the torturous months they had been without a home. "Are any of us really okay?" she asked bitterly.

He let out a sound that was somewhat of a cross between a laugh and a half-choked sob. "Alright, stupid question," he amended. "I guess I should ask what you're thinking about so intently."

Hayley had to avert her eyes back to the fire. She couldn't look at Taylor any more without being consumed with sadness for their condition.

"Is there a point?" she asked finally.

"Point to what?"

"To this." She spread her arms expansively, encompassing the three of them and their makeshift camp with the gesture. "To living like this."

He sighed, frowning. "I don't know, Hay. I really don't know. And I've been wondering the same thing."

"Is it really worth it?" she muttered, watching as a spark flared at the end of a match for a moment before burning out.

"Hey, hey, hey." Jeremy dropped the match into the can where it joined twenty of its' failed comrades. "Stop thinking like that, both of you. Of course this is worth it—what other options are there?"

Neither of them wanted to say it, but they were both thinking the same word and Jeremy knew it.

"We've got to believe that it's going to get better someday," he said, more softly this time. "This isn't permanent. Soon the weather's going to warm up—that'll make things a bit better, won't it? And we'll get a home someday, once this world gets itself organized again. We can live together. I'll be old enough to apply for a government job soon enough, and we can share an apartment."

Hayley's eyes widened at the last sentence. "No! Jeremy, you can't work for BL/ind, we all know that!"

"If that's what's going to keep us safe, then I'll have to," he responded grimly.

"But…" To her horror, Hayley's eyes began to fog with tears. She hadn't had a clue that Jeremy was planning something like this. To give into the government that they all badmouthed daily? To actually _work for them? _It was unthinkable.

"You two aren't going to work," he continued. "I'm sure they'll set up some kind of school soon, and you have to finish your education. I can support us all just fine."

"But we don't want you to!" Taylor interjected.

"It doesn't matter is you want me to, it's what's best for the group," Jeremy said firmly.

"Jeremy!" Hayley and Taylor cried in unison.

"This is not up for discussion." The older boy struck another match and threw it into the can angrily, where it lit the newspaper aflame. He smiled triumphantly.

"Look." He turned to the two of them and spoke more gently, placing one hand on each of their shoulders. "I'm the oldest out of the three of us, so it's my responsibility to take care of the two of you. Only one of us should have to screw up our lives so severely, and it's going to be me, no matter how much you two protest."

Hayley smiled up at him from under damp lashes. Her eyes swam with unshed tears. Nobody had ever tried to protect her like that before—she had never had a sibling to look out for her, and her parents were never home and didn't spend time with her even when they were. He had gone from being a total stranger to willing to give up his freedom for her in under three months.

The younger girl leaped at him, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing her face into the crook of his shoulder. "Love you, Jeremy," she whispered. She felt the weight of Taylor's arms around her back and added, "You too, Tay."

"Love you guys, too," Jeremy answered huskily.

_Is this what a family really feels like? _Hayley wondered. It was more real, more emotional and supportive, than her parents had ever been for her. She absolutely considered Taylor and Jeremy more of her real family than any blood relations had ever been. Maybe there was a reason all this shit had happened to them—maybe it was to bring them together. Maybe it was to make them into a family.

The touching moment was broken by heavy footfalls and shadows thrown across the weak sunlight shining on them. Hayley looked up to see a very winded Alex and Jack, the latter of whom was holding Sierra's tiny hand. All three were scratched up and breathing hard as if they'd just run a marathon, and Alex's shirtsleeve was soaked with blood.

The three on the ground leapt to their feet and rushed over to their friends, a flurry of questions and words flying between the six. Sierra winced and covered her ears. Finally, Jeremy, Hayley and Taylor quieted down enough to hear Jack say, "It was the rally. It was a disaster."

"What happened?" Hayley demanded.

He sighed wearily. "The seven of us were near the edge of the crowd, on the left side, and some group of boys started a protest. Everything got really messed up and violent. Some guy knocked Blake down, so Zack punched him, and Alex and Rian and me were cheering so I guess the police thought we were cheering for the rebellion. They started chasing us. I grabbed Sierra and ran. I think Rian and Blake were with us till a few streets back when we almost ran into one of those creepy special agents, so we split up. I don't know where they got to, but we ran all the way here from Battery Square."

"Alex's arm is all bloody—when was that?" Taylor commented.

"Those police are pretty trigger-happy," Alex moaned. "They were firing shots all over the place. I have no idea how many people got hit, but one got my shoulder. I can't move it."

"What about the others?" Jeremy asked gruffly.

"We lost track of Nick in the crowd," Jack said grimly. "I wouldn't worry too much about him, though—that kid's tiny and pretty sneaky, out of any one of us, he'd most likely survive."

"And Zack," the older boy pressed. He had a feeling he already knew the answer to his question, but he didn't want to believe it or make assumptions without proof—especially for something like this.

"Zack—he's—" Jack choked back a sob, his eyes watering. When he could speak again, he spit out, "The guards shot him. He's dead."

Hayley gasped, horrified, and blood rushed to her face. For the second time that day, she felt tears pool in her eyes, but this time she let them flow. Beside her, Taylor yelped in shock and Jeremy sat down against a wall, putting his head in his hands. His shoulders shook. The young girl buried her face in Taylor's jacket as she cried.

"Are Nicky and Blake coming back?" Sierra asked innocently, obviously aware that something was wrong but not sure what.

"We don't know, honey," Alex murmured, groaning in pain but managing to kneel in front of her. He pulled the child into a one-armed embrace, making sure to keep his blood off of her.

"They killed Zack," Hayley sobbed, clinging to Taylor with all her might. "Why would they kill Zack?"

"Because BL/ind is evil and can't be trusted," Jeremy bit out.

"So you're not going to work for them after all?" Taylor shot back, smoothing down Hayley's hair comfortingly.

"Hey, I never said that—"

"Are you _crazy?_" Jack nearly yelled. "When did you make plans to work for _them?_"

"I'm just trying to keep us safe!" Jeremy shouted back, jumping up from his sitting position.

"No, you're trying to get yourself killed! Do you want to end up like Zack, lasered by a special agent because of somebody else's mistake?"

"What kind of a question is that?" Jeremy responded angrily. He shook with tension, looking almost as if he wanted to punch the other boy.

"It's the one that you should be asking yourself if you're thinking for even a second about joining _them!_" Jack screamed.

Jeremy's shoulders heaved with each breath and he stared Jack down, his eyes filled with anger. "Fuck you, Jack," he said unsteadily. "You can't tell me what to do." And he stormed away down the street.

"Ally, what does 'fuck you' mean?" Sierra asked Alex innocently. "And why is Jeremy mad?"

"He's fine, honey, don't worry about it," Alex soothed.

But the little girl could obviously tell that everything was _not _fine, because Hayley was sobbing her head off, Jack had slumped against a wall with his eyes closed, and Alex couldn't suppress the little moans of pain he was emitting each time he moved his injured arm.

"Don't be sad, Hay," she said, wrapping her arms around both Hayley and Taylor.

"I'm okay, dear," Hayley choked out, smiling waterily at her. But Sierra was young, not stupid, and she kept asking questions until she understood what was going on.

"Where is Zacky?" she asked, tugging on the older girl's shirt hem. This sent Hayley into another round of sobs.

"Zacky isn't going to come home," Taylor told her quietly as he comforted his friend.

"Just like Mommy and Daddy?"

"Yes," he sighed. "Zacky is with your mommy and daddy and God now."

"I miss them." The six-year-old's bottom lip began to tremble.

"Aww, Sierra…" Hayley murmured tearily, kneeling down to embrace her.

Sierra hugged back with a surprising amount of strength for such a little girl. Her fingers curled into Hayley's red hair, and she whispered into her ear, "Will you be my mommy, Hay?"

Hayley nodded wordlessly, too choked up with emotions to answer her properly. Then she stood up, making sure to keep a hold of the little girl's hand.

"Look, you guys," she said fiercely, making sure to look each boy in the eye. "The six of us, we have to stick together. We _are _each other's family now. No more fighting and no more running off. Yes, our group just shrunk a crazy lot and we'll miss everyone very much—but we've got to look past that is we want to survive!"

Alex, Taylor and Jack stared at her, wondering where her sudden determination had come from, but agreed all the same, nodding and smiling at the girl.

"And for God's sake, someone go get Jeremy!" she exclaimed. Jack set off down the street in the direction that the oldest boy had run off in, Alex trailing behind to make sure his apology was peaceful.

"Jeremy can be granddaddy, and Taylor is my daddy," Sierra babbled, clutching at his hand so that she was sandwiched between Hayley and Taylor. "Nicky and Blake can be my brothers when they get back, and Ally and Jack and Rian are the uncles, and we'll be a _real _family!"

"So Hayley's your mom and I'm your dad?" Taylor clarified, laughing.

"Yep!" She nodded happily. "And you're married!"

Taylor and Hayley shared an amused look over the top of the young girl's head. As much as they loved each other, it was a very definite sibling type of love. Dating each other would be akin to dating a brother or sister.

"You're adorable, Sierra," Hayley giggled, ruffling her hair affectionately. Sierra beamed and ducked down to avoid her but refused to relinquish her grip on either one's hand. "Come on, let's go try and find something to eat."

"We're out of food," Taylor reminded her gently.

Hayley's happy expression fell. "I forgot," she moaned. Her stomach growled angrily in agreement. Sierra giggled and poked it, which brought back at least part of the red haired girl's smile.

"Maybe we can go look for something when the others get back," he reassured her.

"Ooh, exploring!" Sierra exclaimed excitedly. She loved to go on 'explores,' as she called the trips they often went on to scavenge for edible food. She would always run ahead through the empty buildings despite the reprimands of her older friends about how dangerous it might be.

About ten minutes later, Jeremy and Jack reappeared, Alex following slowly and clutching his arm. The heads of the two boys were bent in conversation. They looked serious, but not angry, and as the three others watched, Jeremy cracked a smile and slugged Jack in the arm jokingly.

"We're back," Jack called out as they came back in earshot.

"Are you guys friends again?" Hayley answered, half-joking and halfway dead serious.

The boys exchanged a glance. "I think we're fine," Jeremy said. "Jack convinced me not to work for BL/ind right now."

"Oh, good." She shot a wide, grateful smile at the brown-haired boy, who was paused behind Jeremy to wait for Alex to catch up.

"It was a ridiculous idea, anyway." Jeremy brushed past Taylor to the fire, poking it with a stick to make sure it didn't go out. Taylor shrugged at Hayley, but grinned all the same, thankful that they were a family again.

Their optimism didn't last the rest of the day, though. By eight o'clock at night, it felt as if the group had checked every store un a walking distance of their street and still hadn't found any food. Even Sierra had stopped chattering and was instead shivering on Taylor's back as he gave her a piggyback ride home. It was the third day that they had gone without food, and they were growing desperate.

"Sleepy," Sierra murmured, clinging to Taylor like a monkey.

"We'll be home soon," the brunette boy promised. "You can sleep then."

They were all sleepy and cold and most definitely hungry, but they were admirably refusing to complain. It was mostly for Sierra's benefit, because nobody wanted to worry her, but partly for themselves as well—if they kept telling themselves that it would get better, then maybe they would start believing it, too.

Alex had stayed behind at the camp, partly because of his wounded arm and partly so that he could keep an eye on the sparse pile of clothes and blankets that were their only possessions. Hayley had found a couple bottles of painkillers and bandages for him at one of the abandoned stores they had explored. She hoped that, even though it wasn't food or warmth, it might aid in the healing process at least a little bit.

"Find anything?" Alex yelled as soon as he came into sight of the group. His voice was tinged with hope. It nearly broke Hayley's heart to call out "No, sorry," in response.

As they neared their home, they could see the figure of a lone boy hunched over with his head resting on his hand, illuminated by the tiny tin-can fire. He lifted his head to look up at them.

"I did get you there, though," Hayley told him, setting the Ibuprofen bottles down in front of him.

"Oh, thank God," he moaned. He popped the bottle off one of the bottles and shook three pills into his hand, gulping them down in relief. "I needed those, thanks, Hayley."

"Anything that will make this situation a bit more bearable," she responded. Taylor set Sierra down gently atop the group's only mattress, and she snuggled into the dirty, threadbare sheets happily. She was asleep in seconds.

Taylor found himself yawning, too, against his will. He was supposed to take first shift tonight, but he was exhausted. The group had divided the night into three shifts—evening, late-night and morning—and would take turns staying awake to make sure everyone stayed safe, the fire didn't get out of hand, police didn't come investigating, or any of a slew of other catastrophes that could alter their already majorly screwed-up lives.

The young boy wasn't sure he could keep his eyes open for the next five minutes, much less the four hours his shift required. He stifled another yawn, hoping nobody had noticed. He thought he had gotten away with it—Alex was tucking Sierra in properly, Jack was already curled up in his fraying sleeping bad, and Jeremy had his back turned towards the fire.

But Hayley's voice broke the silence. "You look tired," she observed.

"No, I'm—" Taylor paused to stretch, closing his eyes gratefully for a second—"absolutely fine," he yawned.

"Oh really," Hayley smirked.

"Yep!" He flashed her a smile and a thumbs-up to further enforce his statement.

She rolled her eyes. "I've got second shift. Why don't we trade, that way you can get at least a bit of rest before you have to stay up?"

"Aw, Hay, are you sure?" He could tell that she was tired, too—the redhead, like him, was yawning, albeit more infrequently—but he really was tired…

"One hundred percent," she agreed. "Now go get some sleep—you look like you need it."

Taylor gratefully loped away, shrouding himself in a comforter and almost immediately passing out. One by one, the rest of the camp followed, Jeremy stopping to wish Hayley a good night and wrap a blanket around her frail shoulders, until she remained the only one still conscious, watching the street by the light of the fire.

She wasn't aware of time passing, only checking her watch very occasionally. Mostly she sat and stared out into the darkness, thinking.

If this was going to be her new life, her new role in society, she almost didn't want to live it. She had gone from elite—a goddess among royalty—to something lower than low, unspeakable of, forgotten. It had taken only twenty-four hours for her life to turn around completely. Of course, this new life was not without its' benefits (namely Jeremy, Taylor, Sierra, Alex and Jack) but Hayley still found herself reminiscing about the days when she had a home and parents and regular meals. She would give anything to go back to those easy, carefree days.

Hayley felt her eyelids begin to flutter shut as she thought about her big, warm bed and all the food her maid used to make, neither of which she'd had in nearly three months. Somewhere along the line, her memories shifted into dreams as the young girl succumbed to slumber, still sitting up as if guarding the camp.

She was startled awake nearly two hours later by a heavy thump, followed by a muttered curse from somewhere out in the darkness. She sat up, clutching her blanket around her defensively, and peered out beyond the circle of light the fire gave with no success.

"Who's there?" she called tentatively, working to keep the quaver of fear out of her voice.

There was a pause in which she grabbed for the stick they used to stoke the fire, fearing the worst, before a male voice called out "a friend."

"Really?" she asked, standing slowly. "Because I'm armed, and I can f-fight." She was painfully aware of how young and scared she sounded in that moment.

"Whoa, there." The figure stepped into the edge of the circle of light so that his silhouette was visible. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Then who are you?" she asked again.

"I think you might know me," he said, stepping forward again. Hayley gasped.

It was the boy from the mall, the one who passed by her every day as he went out and back home. His hands were raised in a signal of peace, and at his feet was a pile of something dark and fluffy.

"I don't want to hurt you," he repeated, mistaking the reason for her gasp.

"I believe you," Hayley answered softly. She dropped the poker at her feet and walked towards him slowly, wrapping her arms around her torso and shedding the blanket. "What are you doing here?" sje whispered once she reached him. "Shouldn't you be back in your safe, semi-warm home?"

He ignored her question, instead reaching out and placing a hand on her upper arm. His face flickered before her in the firelight. "You're shivering," he murmured.

"It's c-cold out," she responded, her teeth chattering quietly.

"Here." He bent down and pulled something from the bottom of the pile, causing a cascade of items to dislodge. He draped the black, puffy parka around Hayley's shoulders. "I found it for you today. Does it fit?"

Hayley gawked at him, her jaw dropping. She threaded her arms through the sleeves of the coat and snuggled into it. It was just her size, and the warmest, most comfortable thing she had ever felt in her life.

"There's more," he continued. "Two jackets for your other friends, and as much food as I could convince the guys to give up."

Both their eyes dropped to the pile at his feet. The girl wasn't able to make out shapes, but she believed his words. Still, she couldn't get her mouth to work quite properly. It seemed to be frozen in the open, drop-jawed position.

"I'm sorry if I'm being intrusive," he said softly. "I'll go now, if you want."

Hayley forced her eyes to look up into his deep brown ones. "Why?" she asked, the word so quiet it was almost impossible to hear.

"You just looked so miserable today when I saw you. I couldn't stop thinking about it…" the boy shook his head slightly. "I had to help."

She lifted a hand tentatively, not sure what she was about to do. He waited. There was a moment of stillness, and then Hayley embraced him lightly, lifting herself onto her toes so she could reach around his neck. "Thank you," she whispered quietly in his ear.

Before he could say another word, she had broken away from him, smiling gently. He could tell wordlessly that this was his cue to leave. He turned on one foot, about to leave the circle of firelight.

"Wait," Hayley called softly. "What's your name?"

He turned back to her slowly. Their eyes met once again. "Mikey Way," he answered.

"Hayley Williams," she called back. And as he walked off into the darkness, she murmured, "Thank you, Mikey Way."


	8. I'll Be Right Beside You Forevermore

**Hiya guys :D I'm so excited to post this! It's got to be my favorite chapter so far...enjoy!**

CHAPTER 8: I'LL BE RIGHT BESIDE YOU FOREVER MORE

March 01, 2013

New World Plaza, Battery City, California

3:42 PM

"Today is a joyous occasion. Before you stand the first construction projects completed since Day Zero!"

Amy beamed and leaned into Chester as he wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. She let out a small cheer in sync with the crowd and grinned up at him.

"You're so amazing, Chazy," she murmured. "I can't believe you actually did this."

"Mmm," he responded, rubbing his nose against her neck playfully. She giggled and swatted his arm, but continued to stay in that position. "You don't think I'm that strong or determined?"

"No, I _know _you are," she answered. "It's just…you helped _build _those." Her hand shot upwards to gesture at the towering buildings that dominated everything else in the area. The massive structures looked bleak and foreboding, but she knew they meant nothing but good for her and her boyfriend.

"It was all for you, babe," he whispered, kissing the outer shell of her ear. Amy shivered at his touch.

She still couldn't believe that her boyfriend had helped in the effort to repair the apartment buildings in front of them. For over two months, since Better Living Industries had gained control of California and he had volunteered for the job, Chester had left Amy in alone in their basement—the only part of his house that was still standing—and taken his father's thankfully mostly undamaged car into the heart of the city. There, he and the other four thousand men still willing to work had spent their days repairing an old apartment complex. Thankfully, the fire had left most of the infrastructure of those buildings mostly intact, leaving minimal amounts of repair work to be done.

Amy still remembered the day that Chester had come home and told her that he had been one of the lucky one thousand workers to have their name drawn at random to receive one of the apartment buildings he had just repaired. He had come home nearly skipping and scooped Amy up, twirling her around and cheering. She'd known that because of his volunteering, they would get a real home soon, but she hadn't imagined it would be _that _soon!

And now, that day had come. Chester and Amy had been given the key to Apartment 10B in building 3 that morning by one of Better Living's officials and had been told that doors would open at seven that night. All of their belongings were packed away, waiting for them in their car. That night, their lives would finally return to something close to normal again.

They watched as a small scuffle broke out on a screen in front of them, the white-suited Better Living employees on stage whipping out rifles in defense, but it blew over quickly as the screens switched back to their president.

"Better Living Industries works for the people!" President Arashi announced. The pair cheered their assent happily, looking up at their leader with wide eyes.

The man continued with his speech, talking about their care for the safety of their people and the faithful workers who had labored to repair the new homes ("That's you, Chester!" Amy whispered proudly.) And then, with a broad smile and a sweep of his arm, the president declared their apartment buildings open for residency.

Black-and-white confetti rained down on the crowd as Amy wrapped her arms around Chester's neck, crashing her lips onto his. His arms found their way around her waist, and the girl found herself lifted into the air by her boyfriend. She gasped but didn't stop kissing him. All around them, people rejoiced, but Chester and Amy were in their own world where the only two people who existed were them.

When they finally broke apart, Chester whispered huskily, "Move in with me, love?"

"You silly, beautiful, perfect man," Amy giggled. "Yes, of course I'll live with you!"

"You've just made me the happiest man in California," he joked, lifting a hand to stroke her cheek.

"Well then, I must be the happiest girl," she responded. She reached up and entangled her fingers in his, bringing them back down to their sides and leaning into her boyfriend. She loved being close to him—whenever he held her, she felt completely safe in his arms. She knew he'd never let anything happen to her.

Chester smiled lovingly and nuzzled his nose against hers'. "C'mon, roomie, let's go for a walk."

Hand in hand, the two followed the crowd out of the square to where Chester had parked their car on the side of the street. But to Amy's surprise, her boyfriend led her past it and onwards toward what used to be the downtown area of the city.

"Where are we going, Ches?" Amy asked confusedly.

"Who cares?" The young man laughed freely, swinging his and Amy's interlinked hands between them. "We've got a couple hours before we're let into the apartments. How about we just enjoy it?"

"Sounds like a plan," she sighed, pulling her thin jacket closer to her body and smiling at him.

"Where to?"

Amy took a deep breath of spring air, tipping her head back this time to stare at the clear sky. She turned her big blue eyes on Chester. "Anywhere," she suggested.

"That sounds absolutely perfect," he answered, casually checking the pocket of his leather jacket to make sure the important object was still there.

To the couple, anywhere turned out to be a variety of places: a walk through the old shopping center, now completely burned out; a visit to the shell of an old art museum they had once spent long hours in together; a moment at the place where Rosa's Italian Restaurant, the location of their first date, had once stood. They finally ended up at a miraculously alive-looking park near their new apartment building nearly two hours later.

Amy remembered the park. It had always been a green and vibrant spot in a metal and concrete jungle, and a popular spot for lovers, as well. She was surprised to see that the strings of little electric light hung up in the trees along the edges of the park were still on and lit, giving the park at twilight a romantic, ethereal glow. It was the only place in the entire city she had seen electricity uo and running without the government's aid.

They were not the only ones in the park. It was scattered with lone people, couples, and even an odd family or two across the small space, but it was still quiet and peaceful—exactly what the pair wanted.

Amy rested her head on Chester's shoulder and sighed. The fingers of her left hand were still interlaced with those of his right—that hadn't changed throughout the entire afternoon.

"We've got an hour before we can move in," she murmured quietly.

"Only an hour until the start of our new lives," Chester agreed. He smiled softly and kissed the top of her head, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand gently.

"That sounds amazing," whispered Amy. "There's absolutely no one I'd rather spend it with."

"Me neither, darling," he responded.

He led her over to a bench and sat down, pulling her next to him. Amy giggled and landed with a thump.

"If I tell you to stay here for a minute without me, will you wait?" Chester asked, turning to look her in the eye.

"Of course," she answered. "I'll wait forever for you."

"You're so cheesy," he laughed. He kissed her quickly and released her hand, calling "I'll be back soon!" over his shoulder as he left.

Amy watched the retreating figure of her boyfriend curiously. She desperately wanted to know what he was doing, but she would go along with his plan. Chester had always had a lot of plans, and she knew from experience that it was best to let them play out before questioning him.

Anyway, he couldn't take too long—he had to be back within the hour so that they could move in straight away. Amy couldn't wait for the moment when the door opened on her new, adult life that night. And even better, she was getting to spend it with her best friend, her love.

She had tried to refrain from wondering what would happen after that. As part of the agreement for the apartment, she knew that she and Chester were contracted to work for Better Living for as long as they stayed in the building, but in return they would receive food, clothing and other necessities. Essentially, the jobs had them set for life…

But she had no idea what that life would be like.

The young girl startled, letting out a small scream as something warm and heavy wrapped over her eyes, obscuring her vision. She lashed out, slapping at the hand violently.

"Amy, relax!" Chester exclaimed. "It's just me…"

"Huh?" Amy turned around to make sure. Chester had dropped his hand from her face in the scuffle, and she could see a long scratch mark on the back of it—probably from her nails. "Sorry, Chazy—but Jesus, don't scare me like that!"

"Sorry, babe," he chuckled. "But you just looked so peaceful sitting there…"

"Which is why you shouldn't have disturbed me." The black-haired girl stood up quickly, turning around to face her boyfriend, and gasped.

"Where did _that_ come from?"

Behind the bench was a blanket covered in candles and flowers that she was positive hadn't been there when they came in. The candles let off a small halo of light that made the stop shine brightly against the encroaching darkness.

"I just set it up," he said proudly.

Amy gawked. "_You _did that?"

"Hey, I can be romantic when I want to!" he huffed jokingly. "Don't believe me?"

"Pfft, of course I do," she giggled, embracing him. "You're such a sweetheart, you know that?"

"Only for you," he murmured.

The girl sighed and held him tighter, pressing her cheek into the hollow between his chin and his chest. She loved how perfectly she fit there, like a puzzle piece. She loved how every part of them matched up like that.

"How did I get so lucky?" she whispered, the words intangible to everyone but her.

Chester didn't hear her rhetorical question and released her, leading her to the picnic blanket he had set up. "C'mon, the food's getting cold," he teased.

"We wouldn't want that, would we?" she laughed as she sat down on the blanket. "What exactly did you do, Chester?"

"I just made dinner—sorry, it's not very fancy," he said apologetically. He pulled a couple of containers out of a plastic bag, setting them between him and his girlfriend. "I'm working with limited resources…"

"It doesn't matter, the idea was far too adorable in the first place," she sighed.

"I'm glad you like it," he chuckled.

Chester cracked open the containers, passing Amy some of the same food that they'd been surviving on since the apocalypse—reheated Ramen and crackers. Much of the food had gone bad before they'd had the chance to eat it, and they were left with only the nonperishables, which they had quickly gotten sick of.

"We won't have to eat this shit much longer," Chester reminded her happily.

Amy groaned in relief. "Thank God for that! I don't know how much more I can take" She poked at the noodles with her fork disinterestedly, swallowing a couple mouthfuls and wincing before setting down the cup.

"You know, the disaster wasn't _all _terrible," he commented.

Amy shot him a look that obviously meant 'are you crazy?' "How so?" she questioned.

"Well, look at us now," he said simply. "We're still here. We're moving in together—that never would have happened if we were still in high school."

"It would have happened _later,_" she amended.

"Still…at least we've got each other. That's the biggest miracle, in my opinion."

"That's true," she murmured. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Chaz. You're my life."

"And you're mine," he answered.

Amy moved closer to Chester, resting her head on his shoulder. "I love you more than anything else in this whole entire world, you know that, right?" she asked softly. "Before or after the apocalypse."

"I know you do, and I love you just as much. More, even."

"Mmm…that's impossible," she whispered. "I doubt anyone could feel more than this without combusting or something."

"You wanna bet?"

"I would bet on that, yes."

Chester wrapped an arm around his girlfriend's shoulders. "We'll see," he laughed, ruffling her hair.

"Hey, not the hair!" Amy wailed, pushing Chester away. She pulled herself backwards with her hands, pausing to fix her black hair so that it fell straight and perfect again. "I will get you for that!"

"You're such a girl," he chuckled. "Why do you care about your hair so much? You always look perfect, anyway."

"You're just saying that so I don't get mad," Amy huffed.

Chester smirked. "So what if I am? It's still true."

"You really need to stop being such a fucking amazing boyfriend," Amy grumbled, standing up and pulling him to his feet. "Seriously, you've got a comeback for absolutely everything."

"Just part of my charm." The teenage boy winked at her.

Amy muttered something that sounded like 'crazy, stupid, wonderful boy' and bent down to begin to clean up the picnic. "You are _not _off the hook," she warned him.

"Oh, I know," he grinned. "So what _will _get me off the hook?"

She straightened up, holding the plastic bag of leftovers in one hand. "Well, you can start by putting this back wherever you made it appear from." Handing him the bag, she pecked him lightly on the cheek to let him know she wasn't really mad and pressed her hand to his ass, pushing him in the right direction.

"Will you wait here?" he asked.

"As long as you promise not to scare me again."

"I swear that I won't," Chester told her, and kissed the top of her head. "I'll be back before you even notice that I'm gone."

Amy sat down on the bench again, tilting her head upwards to stare into the sky. It was slowly turning dark—the horizon, which had glowed pink and orange fifteen minutes before, was now a dusky lavender color. It would be twilight soon.

Twilight had always been her favorite time of day. There was something magical and mysterious about the darkening sky and the emerging stars, about the time when it wasn't quite certain whether it was day or night. The park right now was made even more beautiful by the rosy glow of the Christmas lights in the trees, which shed a soft white light over everything below them.

Chester couldn't have picked a more romantic spot in the entire city, Amy thought.

She heard soft footsteps behind her and Chester rounded the edge of the bench to stand in front of her. "Was that quick enough?" he asked.

"I hardly even noticed you were gone," she answered truthfully.

He smiled lightly and reached for her hand, entwining it with his own. "Walk with me," he offered.

Amy stood, smiling, and followed him down a path that led farther into the center of the park. It cut diagonally through the center of the green square, edged on both sides by the light-strung trees. They walked slowly as if they had all the time in the world, and in that moment, it was almost as if they did.

"It's so beautiful tonight," Amy murmured.

"It's perfect," agreed Chester. His thumb rubbed circles into the back of Amy's hand to stop his from shaking out of fear. He tried to calm his nerves and his voice.

The reassuring movement made Amy's hand tingle and she shivered lightly, a soft smile on her face. _She really doesn't have any idea what I'm about to do, _Chester marveled.

It was now or never.

Chester took a deep breath and stopped walking, his girlfriend pausing behind him. "Amy," he said.

"Chester," she replied in an equally serious tone.

_She _still _doesn't realize?_

"We're about to start our new lives tonight. Our new lives_ together."_

"I know," she said, bemused.

_Oh God, what do I say now?_ "I—I—" he stuttered, letting go of her hand. "I love you?" he finished weakly.

"I love you too," she answered.

_Man up, Chester, you've got to be confident! Don't fuck this up!_

"I love you, Amy," he said more confidently. "And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. All of it."

He sensed that she was beginning to get it, even if she didn't completely realize it yet. There was something in her ice-blue eyes that recognized what he was about to say.

"I want to do everything with you—live together, have children, grow old—because you're the love of my life. I'll never want anyone else. More than ever, these past three months have made me realize that."

Amy got it. She knew. She was gasping, covering her mouth with both hands, but a massive smile was growing behind them even as Chester bent down on one knee in front of her.

"Amy Lee," he whispered slowly, drawing out each syllable. He paused to look up at her, his beautiful angel. She was shaking her head back and forth slightly, happy tears forming in the corners of her eyes, and her mouth was tugged up into an ecstatic, disbelieving grin.

"I love you. I've loved you for six years now, and I'm going to love you for a whole lot more." He swallowed nervously, reaching into his jacket pocket for the box. The top flipped open with an audible _click _in his hands.

"Will you marry me?"

The tears were flowing in earnest down Amy's face now, but her smile was radiant. Her eyes locked with Chester's. Neither of them looked away.

"Yes," she whispered.

Tenderly, Chester found her left hand, holding it in his own. With his other hand, he slid his mother's old sapphire ring, yet another thing he had rescued on that night so long ago, onto her fourth finger. He let go carefully.

Amy's hand hung there frozen. The blue stone reflected shards of moonlight, breaking them and refracting them in a million different directions. Neither of them moved at all.

Then Chester stood and threw his arms around her, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around even as she wrapped her arms tightly around her neck. Their laughs and sobs mingled in the air. Amy's lips found Chester's and they kissed like they never had before, like it was their first day together, like it was their last kiss. They melded together under the soft moonlight, two parts of a whole. The girl couldn't stop repeating the words "yes, yes" quietly—whether a delayed response to his question or just an ecstatic exclamation, even she didn't know.

Chester set Amy down again finally. Both were dizzy and giddy, and they collapsed into each other, laughing. Amy was still crying slightly, causing her body to shake with hiccups. Chester held her steady.

"Married," she whispered when she was able to speak again. "Married."

"Us," he added.

Her smile had faded from blindingly brilliant into a soft, dreamy grin, and she wound both her hands with Chester's. "Thank you," she murmured.

"For what?" he asked, confused.

"For asking. You've just made everything perfect."

"You honestly had no idea it was coming?" he laughed.

"Absolutely none. I've dreamed about it, sure, but for it to actually _happen_—" the raven-haired girl sighed, obviously overwhelmed by the multitude of emotions. "It's a dream come true."

"And it means just as much to me," Chester reminded her, rubbing her back lightly. Amy leaned in to kiss him again, their mouths only millimeters apart, when a loud tune split the near-silence.

The pair exchanged wide, startled glances. "Seven o'clock," they said in tandem, their voices reverent.

Chester reached into his pocket quickly, silencing his phone, and grinned at his fiancée. "You ready?" he asked quietly.

"I am now," she replied, subconsciously twisting the ring on her left hand.

"Then let's go," he grinned.

It didn't take long for the couple to gather their few possessions from the car and to walk the three blocks from the park to their new complex, and before they knew it, Chester had signed in at the front desk, received two keys to their apartment, and they were in the carefully repaired elevator that would carry them the last leg of their journey to their new home.

They didn't talk during the time it took to get there, but the silence was perfect and happy and full of life. Instead, Chester and Amy couldn't stop smiling at each other ecstatically. Neither could completely believe how perfectly everything had fallen into place for them.

The elevator dinged, breaking the peaceful quiet, and Chester led his girlfriend out of the metal box and into a tiled, unpainted hallway. Amy seized his hand.

He paused to stroke her cheek, trailing a finger down the side of her face with a light touch. "Ready, roomie?" he smirked at her.

"As I'll ever be, Mr. Bennington," she teased back. Suddenly, the ground was gone from under her feet, leaving her breathless.

"Chester! Put me the fuck down!" she gasped, clinging to his neck for dear life.

"I want to do this properly," Chester whispered huskily as he unlocked the apartment door. Both boy and girl took a deep breath as he pushed the door open lightly.

The wood barrier swung open, revealing a small entryway with openings to the left and right. The walls were stark and unpainted, the entire area looking highly impersonal, but neither had ever seen a more beautiful sight.

Hugging Amy tightly to his chest, Chester stepped over the threshold cautiously. Amy's cold fingers curled around his neck tensely.

"Welcome home," he whispered, gently setting her on her feet.

"That sounds perfect," Amy whispered back.

And then their lips connected in a burst of passion, both of them smiling into the kiss even as their mouths bloomed open against each other. Amy closed her eyes and fireworks exploded behind the lids.

Kicking the door shut behind him, Chester pressed forward until Amy's back was parallel to the wall, her hands splayed out against the surface for support. She turned her face upwards into the kiss, allowing Chester more access, and he tentatively slid his tongue into the warm cavity. His fiancée moaned and leaned against the wall, allowing it to hold her up. Her legs seemed to have suddenly ceased to work.

"Oh God, Chester," she sighed, biting back another moan. _Honestly, the things that boy could do with his tongue…_

Chester could only murmur into her mouth, making her moan even more from the vibrations. His hand slid down her torso and waist to cup her thigh, lifting it up to hitch over his hip. Amy's arms followed, gripping his neck tightly. Her legs locked around his waist.

With a groan, Chester pulled back from Amy a bit, carrying her away from the wall. "Let me show you the bedroom," he whispered, slipping one hand around her back to support her ass. Her eyes grew wide, her breathing heavy, but all the same, she smiled seductively. She was ready.

"The take me to bed, Chester."


	9. With Pretty Smiles and Lies

**lol I forgot the AN the first time :P**

**This is filler ._. I'm sorry, guys...at least it's _needed_ filler...**

CHAPTER 9: WITH PRETTY SMILES AND LIES ABOUT THE TIMES

March 01, 2013

Terry's House, the Edge of California

3:35 PM

"Anything happening out there?" Terry called out from the kitchen.

"Nada," Lacey called back. She turned back to the small, fuzzy television screen, pulling her feet up onto the threadbare couch. The TV blurred out of focus before regaining the picture of the crowded square broadcasting from the center of their city. Lacey had only been there two times after the apocalypse, once when she and Terry had gone to explore a week after Day Zero and once more when they had gone out to look for fresh food (of which they had found hardly any.) But she'd seen more than enough on the TV to form her own opinions about the new government.

Terry emerged from the kitchen with a plate, chewing a piece of stale bread. "You need anything?" he asked.

"Nah, I'm good," she replied, her eyes still affixed to the glowing screen. The bar at the bottom of the screen blared '_New World Plaza, Battery City.'_

"When's it supposed to start?"

"They're saying three forty-five," the young girl replied.

"Better go get some coffee, then," Terry mumbled. "You want some?"

"Please."

He went back into the kitchen and left Lacey alone with the Better Living news show again. On-screen, the crowd's cheers had grown again, and they seemed more than ready for the speech to start—just like her.

Lacey didn't like Better Living Industries at all. She absolutely did not trust the way that they had appeared out of nothing and risen to power amidst frantic chaos. She knew that Terry felt the same way—they'd discussed the new government many times: over dinner, on rainy afternoons, during a significantly controversial or unfair BL/ind news segment. It was mostly why the two had decided to stay at the small house on the rocky shore rather than trying to make their way among the city-dwelling survivors.

She sometimes wondered what the people from her old life would say about her new way of existence. She knew what most would say—her, barely seventeen, living with nearly thirty year old Terry, out in the boon docks of a post-apocalyptic city where no one would bother them. But they wouldn't get it. There was nothing sexual or romantic about her and Terry's relationship. He had saved her life, taken her in when she had nowhere else to go, and basically had adopted her as his own family. He was more of a father to her than her own father had ever been, much kinder, more interesting, and considerate and above all, somebody who cared for her and shared her views. She knew she'd never be able to repay him even a fraction of what he had given to her, but the older man seemed to think that was alright.

A loud burst of static broke her introspectiveness, and her head flickered back to the TV. President Takashime Arashi was mounting the steps to the podium at the front of the square, and the crowd was going wild with excitement.

"Terry, it's starting!" she called out.

"Finally!" he yelled back. "Turn it up, would ya, Lace? I want to hear it too…" Obediently, Lacey held down the volume button, jacking up the noise emitting from the ancient black box.

On-screen, a familiar Oriental-sounding tune played, and Arashi signaled for silence. The music cut off suddenly. "Hello, citizens of Battery City!" he greeted, waving expansively at the adoring, naïve crowd.

The view cut to the sea of bodies again, flashing a wide shot of the entire plaza. Every square foot was completely filled with people crushed against each other.

Terry came to stand behind the couch, towering over Lacey as he watched. He passed her a mug of steaming coffee without breaking his line of vision on the president.

"Did I miss anything?" he asked quietly.

"Nothing important, just the opening," she replied. The girl paused to take a sip of coffee, reveling in the rich taste of it. She drank it every day, as fish and coffee were the only things that she and Terry still had a lot of, but unlike fish, she still retained a love for the hot drink.

"And all of this was planned, funded and executed by your new government, Better Living Industries!" exclaimed the Japanese president.

"What bullshit," Lacey muttered. "Is that the only way they can gain support—by brainwashing a bunch of shell-shocked people into agreeing with them by promising some shitty housing in exchange for their _souls?_"

"There's a reason they're called BL/ind," replied Terry grimly.

Lacey huffed and slumped back against the couch, wrapping her hands more tightly around the mug. She found the entire situation pathetic. Could the rest of the citizens of this new, fragile world really be so ignorant as to not see everything that BL/ind told them was full of lies and half-truths? Maybe it was because she was so far removed from the situation, out here where the Japanese government's influence would hopefully never reach…but no, she would still be able to understand that it was all going to shit under their supervision. It was too obvious.

And yet Takashime Arashi continued talking and the crowd continued cheering and BL/ind continued gaining support…

She heard Terry's distinct sharp of intake of breath behind her, and her eyes flitted back to the TV. She caught a quick glimpse of a black-haired boy—young, couldn't have been older than herself, and small, but with an undeniable charisma that shone through the screen—holding a sign before the image quickly switched to another aerial shot. But she'd seen the words loud and clear. _BL/ind Brainwashes._

So she wasn't the only one that thought this way?

The company was obviously trying to control the broadcast, but the crowd was in uproar. Whoever the teenager with the sign was, he had started something big—something irreversible. She watched as many of the people turned to face him, hoisted high on the shoulders of a friend. She could pinpoint his exact location. It was as if he was the epicenter of an earthquake and was sending out shockwaves, each person in the path of them turning to listen to whatever he was saying.

Then the screens cut back to their lovely president once again.

"Fuck!" Lacey swore, growling at the TV. "That was getting interesting! Did you see that, Terry? His sign!"

"I saw it, Lace," he agreed, smirking.

"We're not alone," she mused. _Not alone in our rebellious thoughts…_

"Wherever there's an organized government, there'll be anarchists," Terry stated wisely.

Lacey grinned. "Anarchists? I never thought of it that way…"

"We're anarchists. Them—" he gestured to the screen—"they're anarchists, too. Anyone opposing the authority is an anarchist."

"That's fucking awesome," she muttered. "Anarchists. That's fucking badass."

"Nah, not really. We're not doing anything…"

"But we should," she exclaimed, finally breaking her stare on the screen to face him. "I can't stand it, Terry! I want to _do _something! To fix it!"

"You're talking crazy, Lacey," he stated, shaking his head.

"No, I'm not! You saw them! They're doing something—they're out there, they're spreading awareness, no matter what the cost for them. They see it like we do!" The girl's eyes had grown wide and her stare was fierce, her eyes once again glued to the near-revolt taking place on screen. Arashi was violently signaling for quiet and on either side, his bodyguards had whipped out their guns, fanning out to protect him from every direction. She could faintly hear gunshots ringing out in the background.

The crowd went silent.

More gunshots. A high-pitched, feminine scream, groans and gasps from the people, and yet the screen wouldn't show anything but Arashi's face. One of his bodyguards squeezed the trigger on his rifle, sending a shot of light into the crowd—

Whatever it was, that thing wasn't a bullet.

A distinct groan sounded through the TV's speakers, and the president smiled satisfactorily. "Thank you. Better Living only wants to do what is best for the people."

Lacey's jaw literally dropped, and she spit a mouthful of coffee back into the cup to keep herself from choking. The Japanese man still continued: "We have your safety and well-being in mind."

"Like hell you do!" she spat at the TV. Terry put a calming hand on her shoulder, but she still stared tensely at the screen, her hands clutched to tightly around the mug that the knuckles stood out, bright white against her skin.

"What a fucking liar," he groaned, frowning. "He really thinks he can get away with that?"

But Lacey was silent, all her concentration focused on the tiny screen where President Arashi continued to spew lies into the hungry crowd.

"Because they pledged their allegiance to us, because they have agreed to work for the company and to adhere by our laws, they have been greatly rewarded, as you can be, too!"

The guns were put away, the Japanese man was back to beaming, and the crowd was falling back under his spell. Lacey could already hear the faint cheers beginning to swell.

"I officially declare Hawthorne Towers open for residency!" he shouted.

And just like that, he'd gotten the crowd's support back.

The technicians working the cameras must have decided it was safe to focus on the people again, because the image onscreen was flashing between wide, overhead shots of the plaza and individual zoom-ins of happy citizens. It landed on a young child sitting on her father's shoulders, a group of young girls cheering exuberantly, and a gorgeous teenage couple embracing. As it zoomed in, the icy-eyed girl threw her arms around the chestnut-haired boy's neck, her absurdly long black locks flying, and they shared a long, passionate kiss.

Lacey abruptly felt sorrow for them, these two who obviously didn't know any better. They looked absolutely happy believing all the propaganda being fed to them—maybe because they didn't know any better? Although they didn't look that much younger than her, an odd feeling of responsibility washed over the girl. She had to show them the truth. They _had_ to know!

"Poor suckers," Terry muttered, shaking his head.

"At least they've got each other," replied Lacey. She realized that he'd been talking about the crowd as a whole, which the camera had zoomed out to encompass, a moment too late.

"And they've got that lovely new government of theirs," he answered bitterly. "That'll obviously support them once they run out of food in the city."

This was another thing that the pair would hopefully never have to worry about. Crazily, miraculously, Terry's boat had survived the crushing waves and acid rain mostly intact, and it had only taken a few days for the two to make the necessary repairs to the craft before it was once again seaworthy. The boat was a lifesaver. Terry must have been the only person left in California who still knew how to fish, because the ocean was always devoid of other humans and just as full of sea life. During the three months she'd lived with Terry, he had taught her how to use a fishing pole, set and reel in a trawling net, steer a motor boat, row, and clean and cook the fish they caught. That was practically all they were living off of these days—truth be told, Lacey was getting sick of it—but at least they had plenty to eat.

She definitely wouldn't get sick of the process of catching it, though. Even after her near-death in a watery grave, she was growing to love life by the water. She woke every morning to the loud crashing of the waves against the rock and opened her eyes to the ocean, purple-gray in the dusky morning. Most days, she rose before the sun peeked over the horizon. Terry would pack their supplies and food for the day, they'd scarf down a quick breakfast, and at sunrise exactly they would board the motorboat (or sometimes the rowboat on a particularly nice day) and be off. An average day was almost nine hours spent on the boat, but she never got bored. Terry's simple life suited her well.

Sometimes, though, she did wonder about what else was out there, in the world that BL/ind controlled. She might have been content with the life of a fisher, but she was still a teenager, too—rebellious, restless, eager to explore. She always made it a point to keep up-to-date with everything that was happening outside in case one day, she did make the decision to rejoin society. From what she'd seen, though, she wouldn't be making that decision any time soon.

The only reason Lacey would have to go back into the city would be to help oppose the government. Out here, so far removed from everything, it seemed so clear that BL/ind was a force of evil. But the city shown on the news programs seemed compliant with their every word. The boy with the sign on the screen earlier that day had been the first sign of anything other than utter devotion to the suspicious Japanese regime that she had ever seen.

It suddenly seemed overwhelmingly important to her that she wasn't the only one to hate the government. If she could find this boy, talk to him, _plan _something…who knows what they could do?

Lacey realized that she had been staring at a BL/ind advert for almost five minutes, and with a jerk, she stood, stretching her arms over her head slowly. Terry must have gone back into the kitchen without her noticing. Lazily, she reached for the remote, flicking the off button and taking satisfaction in watching the smug Japanese girl's grin dissolve into static.

What to do now?

That was the eternal question during the days she spent with Terry. Lacey had arrived at his house with nothing but the clothes on her back (which was a mostly destroyed Nirvana shirt and a grungy, salt-encrusted nightgown she hadn't touched since the day she'd arrived.) He didn't have much in the ways of entertainment—no computer, and the TV and radio would only broadcast Better Living-approved information, aka propaganda. She'd read all of his books, watched all of his movies, and listened to all of his CDs. She'd even taken up cooking in an attempt to make the food they had left more interesting than the usual, but stopped when she realized that her experiments wasted precious resources as they were more often than not inedible.

Mostly, though, she talked to Terry. She was forever glad that it had been him in particular to rescue her. Terry was an amazing guy, funny and supportive in a quiet, reserved way. He might look intimidating on the outside, but once she got to know him, she found a large-hearted friend in the older man. He was the constant in her new, tumultuous life—whatever it was that Lacey ended up doing, she wanted to do it with Terry by her side.

"What do you want for dinner?" the fisherman called to her from the kitchen.

"Well, what are our choices?" Lacey called back.

"Fish, fish and…more fish."

The young girl groaned inwardly. She knew what the answer was going to be, it was just…well, she was completely sick of fish.

"I dunno, that all sounds pretty tempting…" she joked. "However am I supposed to decide between such a wide variety?"

"Isn't someone a sarcastic little bugger," he shot back before laughed heartily to show it was a joke.

Lacey laughed along and lay back on the couch, reaching for the book she was reading for the sixth time. Terry told her that he had never read it, but had picked it up at a tag sale somewhere and was never really interested. It was Lacey's favorite. The plot was intricate and fantastical, but just real enough for the characters to be believable and relatable. She'd heard of it before Day Zero and had been meaning to read it. There was another good thing about the apocalypse, one of the very few—she was reading more and becoming more educated.

Flipping straight to the page she'd left off on, the young girl plunged herself back into the other world. She was soon immersed in the story. The world outside faded away as she read more, and soon her thoughts of Better Living Industries, Battery City, and the black-haired boy with the sign were replaced by those of a place that didn't exist.

It was nearly forty-five minutes later when Terry came into the living room to get her for dinner. She liked the fact that he could leave her alone for so long without worrying about what she was doing—it showed that he trusted her.

"Hungry?" he asked.

She rolled over on her back to face him. "Just a bit."

"Well, food's ready whenever you want some."

Terry had always offered her the option of eating alone, but Lacey preferred to spend her nights talking with the older man. He had such interesting views on the world both before and after Day Zero. He taught her things about culture and politics that she'd never had any idea about before—her parents had never cared much for the workings of the government, simply shelling out a fraction of their colossal income on tax collection day. They were too lazy to vote. Terry, in contrast, had always been interested in current events even if they didn't apply to him.

And then there were their lengthy talks about the new world, the one formed after the apocalypse. From the very first moment they heard of Better Living Industries, the two had immediately been wary of the Asian adults who gained sudden influence. It had just gotten worse from then on out. As they lost all of their media broadcasts and outside information sources to BL/ind propaganda, Lacey and Terry got angrier and angrier until complaining about the way things were now was a daily ritual over dinner at the end of a particularly long, hard day.

She followed Terry into the kitchen, pouring two mugs of coffee for them as he dexterously flipped the fried fish onto a pair of plates. "That looks good," she commented, smiling weakly.

Terry rolled his eyes, chuckling. "You and I both know that we're sick of it," he said, placing it on the cluttered table in front of the window that looked out along the coast. Lacey followed, sitting down and digging in ravenously. She might be bored of fish, but that didn't mean she wasn't still hungry.

"Well, it's all we're gonna get," she muttered with her mouth full. "We're lucky we've got it."

"That we are," he agreed, nodding.

"And I'm lucky I'm still alive."

Terry nodded again.

"And I'm—"

"You need to stop thanking me for that every day, Lace," he chuckled. "So I saved your life—it's no big deal. I _like _having you here, you're good company."

"How did you know what I was going to say?" she exclaimed.

"Oh, I don't know…maybe because you say the same thing at dinner every night?"

Lacey giggled. "Do I really?"

"Sort of…"

"Well, maybe it's because I'm just that thankful," she said quietly.

Terry laughed. "You're sweet, Lacey."

"That's a new one," she grinned. "Usually it's _bitchy _or _loner_ or _cold._"

"Maybe that's why we fit so well together, then."

"Maybe it is."

Lacey smiled at Terry, a genuine, warm grin of affection. He smiled back.

"Thanks for saving my life, Terry. I'm glad it was you."


	10. Standing in the Wake of Devastation

**Dear readers, I love you, every single one of you, and thank you.**

**That was just in case SOPA shuts down FF.**

**No, I kid xD (sorta) But gahhh fucking SOPA =_= It's shit like this that makes me wish I was Canadian**

**Anyway, this chapter is an unofficial birthday present to EmilyCarosidy cause I still have to get her something cause I'm one lazy motherfucker. Plus she loves LP, so XD**

**Now read!**

CHAPTER 10: STANDING IN THE WAKE OF DEVASTATION

March 01, 2013

A Motel, Somewhere out in the Mojave Desert

3:46 PM

"Well, looks like it was a good thing we stayed here," Rob commented lazily, flicking at the volume dial on the radio in the van.

"Not sure what the point of going would have been, anyway," Mike agreed. He yawned and reclined the passenger seat, stretching out like a cat. "Just some dumb speech from some dumb guy who has no relevance to us…"

"For now," his friend reminded him.

"And hopefully a lot longer."

Takashime Arashi and Better Living Industries hadn't set their sights on controlling the desert yet, to the great relief of five of its inhabitants—the only five, in fact, as far as they knew. Like many others, they used the radio as a lifeline to the city and modern events, but hadn't made an actual move back into the hub of civilization yet. Mike and his band of friends were absolutely content in the motel in the desert. The first few days had been really creepy—the old lady had disappeared, or at least, no one had been able to find her again, and the rest of the area was completely deserted—but soon they realized that their new situation wasn't that bad. In fact, it was pretty easy. Everything they needed to survive was right there in front of them.

Rob turned the key in the ignition and the engine growled crankily, spitting a cloud of gray smoke into the air from underneath the hood. The van hadn't held up very well against the acid rain, but at least it still worked.

"Where to?" he asked, turning to Mike.

"Wherever you feel like," the Asian man smirked. "Surprise me."

"I'll try."

Mike pulled his head back up as Rob steered out of the parking lot. It was nice spending time with Rob alone. He loved his whole band dearly, but he had always been particularly close to the handsome brunette drummer. More and more these days, with Phoenix and Brad the happy couple always off doing God-knows-what and Joe busy being the mastermind of the group, trying to connect to others in the city via Internet, the pair were often left alone as they were now. They often came out to listen to the radio together—either the BL/ind run news shows, or the single alternative rock music station left from pre-apocalypse days, it didn't matter. Mostly they just talked.

"What do we do next?" Rob asked quietly, his gaze slipping from the road ahead to Mike's face.

"Er…I'd say take a left."

"No, dumbass." He rolled his eyes and steered the van right. "I mean with our lives. We're doing nothing right now. Wouldn't you rather do _something?_"

"Wouldn't we all?" Mike asked rhetorically.

"I dunno, Phi and Brad seem pretty content…"

"You and I both know they aren't, Rob. None of us are."

The drummer let out a huge breath of air, his eyes fluttering closed quickly before jerking open to watch the road. "That's my point exactly."

"Well, what do you _want _us to do, then? Go into the city and get BL/ind-mandated jobs?"

"Of course not!" he exclaimed. "But just get…out. Play our music again. Yeah, that's what I want—no, _need_ to do—play our music for people again."

Mike fell silent, his expression pensive. Rob took this as a sign to go on.

"See? I know you feel it too, Mikey. It's what we've been doing for so long now. It's weird _not _to play for anyone and—and I miss it too damn much!"

"Same here," Mike replied softly. "Same here, Rob. But what are we supposed to do?"

"Go back."

Rob's blunt answer shocked Mike into utter silence. Slowly, he turned to look at his best friend.

"You're not serious…are you?"

"Dead serious," Rob replied, his hands tight on the steering wheel. He stared straight ahead to avoid his friend's gaze.

"But…do you know how dangerous that'd be? Giving up everything we've got out here for the chance of a future? We already know there's a food shortage _and _a lack of housing in Battery City, and what with that new company running rampant all over the place, who knows what'd happen…"

"But it would be worth it if we got to play music again," Rob pressed.

Secretly, Mike agreed with the drummer's words wholeheartedly. Music had been his life up until that day in December. Deep down, he knew it still was. It just wasn't the same with no one to listen to it, though.

"Joe won't be happy," he said. "Or Phi and Brad. They might not even go with you."

"But will you, Mike?"

Mike stared out the windshield at the scraggly brush on both sides of the road, at the impossibly blue sky and the scenery that had almost become their home. Their life out here wasn't much, but at least it was a life.

Would it be worth it to give this up for the music?

"Yes," he finally whispered.

"Then I think we'll be fine," Rob smiled.

Their drive didn't take them anywhere they hadn't been before, and it didn't serve any purpose. The pair just wandered aimlessly through the endless desert roads as they made plans for their return to the known world: find a food source, try and get a place to live somewhere close to it, and get the word out that Xero was back.

The last part was the bit they were having particular trouble with. They weren't sure exactly how many of their fans were still alive and they had absolutely no way of contacting them—their gigs had all been at one club, to the same crowd every night. They'd seen that same club burning as they made their frantic exit from the city. Nobody would ever think of checking there now.

Then there was the alternative rock radio station. The only one Better Living apparently hadn't found yet, no one was sure why they had been left untouched—BL/ind couldn't find them? They were simply flying under the radar?—but either way, it was the only way music was still circulating throughout the state. That might possibly be their only way back in.

Now all that was left was to tell the rest of their band.

In the fading evening light, Rob turned the van into a u-turn, swinging the end of the van off the side of the road before righting the vehicle. In the far distance, their motel blazed brightly, the one lit spot against the horizon. The alternative music station blasted from the radio.

"It'll be weird going back," Mike mentioned sleepily. "We've got no idea what it'll be like anymore."

"All part of the adventure," Rob replied.

"Do you think the guys will agree to come back with us?"

"Let's hope so," the brunette said grimly. In truth, he really wasn't sure. The three other members of their band seemed pretty settled in at the motel and they hadn't expressed any desire to change it—although Rob hadn't either up until now. He hoped that secretly, Joe, Brad and Phoenix wanted to play music again just as much as he and Mike did.

It didn't take long for the pair to steer the van back into the parking lot. They'd merely been driving around in circles for the past couple of hours, and all of the desert roads connected back to each other in the end. Rob and Mike exited slowly, throwing anxious glances at each other, before pulling open the old glass door and entering their home again.

The lobby was just as they'd left it: messy, strewn with garbage and sand they'd tracked in. That was the way that most of the motel looked nowadays. When they got bored, the boys had a habit of targeting a certain room and ransacking it, trying to see how badly they could mess it up.

"We're home!" Mike yelled loudly in case anyone had ventured to the bottom floor. "It's not the police, I swear."

When there came no response, he grabbed his room key from where he'd left it behind the counter and led Rob into the tin-can elevator they'd slowly gotten used to over the months.

"What should we tell them?" he asked his friend as the elevator shot skywards.

"Everything we just discussed," Rob answered. "And I mean _everything._"

The elevator beeped and with a rusty groan, the doors slid open to reveal the chilly hallway they'd taken up residence in. Most of the doors hung wide open, leading out of the hallway, and Brad's loud, distinctive laugh sounded from Joe's room a few doorways down.

"We're back," Mike shouted as they walked down the hallway. Phoenix's head poked out and he waved at them.

"Where were you?" he complained. "We got hungry, so we ate already…we thought you weren't coming back."

"Why would we do that beforetelling you first?" Rob teased, sauntering through the doorway with Mike in tow. He flopped into an armchair, ignoring Phi's squeals of "hey, that's mine!" and greeted the other two with "Sup?"

"Just waiting for you," Joe griped. "Seriously, though, where the fuck were you guys?"

Mike threw a cautious glance at Rob, silently asking if he should tell them. At Rob's small nod, he started talking.

"We were discussing…things," he said.

"What things?" Joe asked suspiciously.

"Plans for the future," the emcee specified. "About going…back."

His friends' reactions were not exactly the ones he had expected. Joe grinned, Brad let out a cheer, and Phoenix actually got up and began throwing his clothes into his suitcase.

"Wait, what?" Rob asked confusedly, sure he had missed something.

"Finally!" Joe smiled broadly. "We didn't want to ask you, because we thought that you were all settled in here in the desert, but we were talking and we all decided that we miss the music too much and we've got to get back into Battery City no matter what!"

Mike's hopeful smile turned into a full-fledged grin, and he even cheered a bit. Why had he ever doubted his friends? They all loved the band just as much as he did. They all thought on the same wavelength. Of course they'd want to go back, too!

"When do we leave?" Phoenix called from the closet.

"Tomorrow!" Rob exclaimed. Mike swiveled his head to look at the drummer, surprised but pleased with the answer. The sooner the better, after all…

"Perfect," Mike grinned.

None of them were able to sleep that night. Instead, they spent the time loading all of their possessions, every salvageable bit of the motel's food, and even the cheap free personal hygiene products from the second-floor bathrooms into the vehicle. Their van was completely stuffed. There was literally no room left for anything other than the five men and their instruments. The rest of the night was spent practicing—_really _practicing—for the first time since Day Zero.

They started with their oldest, most familiar songs, the ones they had written nearly four years ago when the band was formed, and then moved into their requisite covers of older rock songs. Mike was amazed by how _good _it felt to have the familiar, smooth body of the electric guitar in his hands again, to feel the worn neck sliding under his fingers. Even better was the sensation of stretching his vocal cords in anticipation of performance and then finally, gloriously, to let himself truly sing for the first time in months. He'd expected his voice to be rusty from disuse, but it had waited in perfect condition, an old friend ready to begin anew.

The last few hours from midnight to the crack of dawn were used for their new songs, the big hits that had gotten Xero their fan base. The band had forgotten how excellent their songwriting skills were. The old turned came to life under their skillful fingertips, billowing back into existence like an inflated balloon. Maybe they sounded extra-special to the men after so long without hearing them, but they would all agree later that what they played that night was magical. They sounded better than they ever had before.

And by the time the sun finally broke the very edge of the desert horizon, spilling light over the barren landscape, Xero was back.

"That was fucking surreal," Mike exclaimed as soon as he collapsed into the passenger seat, all of their band equipment finally tucked away and safe in the back.

"Completely," Brad agreed from the backseat. "And God, did it feel good…"

"That's what she said," Phoenix giggled. This earned a chorus of groans from his friends that were soon drowned out by the sound of Rob cranking the engine and the radio flipping on automatically. A familiar Nirvana song blasted out of the van's speakers, one that many of them hadn't heard in ages, and groans morphed into cheers while four very-out-of-tune men and one professional rapper sang along to the song's famous words.

The roads disappeared into the dusty landscape behind them as the van raced forward. Hours passed, but to the ecstatic men, it seemed to be mere minutes as they shot towards a new future, a new hope, a new life that would once again be filled with the color and sound they were so used to being a part of their teenage lives. Music was intertwined into their souls. They were crazy to think they could give it up, even if for only a few months.

The ride gave them plenty of time to talk about what would happen to them now that they were rejoining the world. They knew it had changed, but how exactly they didn't know. It made them all uneasy to say the least…BL/ind was dangerous, an unknown quantity. They had absolutely no idea how it was going to affect the city and more importantly them.

The alternative rock station blasted away in the background, and looking back on the moment, Mike was sure they never would have gone through with the decision if not for that small, simple fact. The men needed constant reminders of why they would ever consider such a risky plan, and in every silent moment when they all began to wonder why they'd agreed to do this in the first place, those blessed DJs would pull out another track from their seemingly endless repertoire and the group would begin to smile again.

But finally, even the music couldn't keep their moods up as they neared the city.

"Was it always this scary-looking?" Phoenix murmured, staring out the windshield at the horizon tensely. He was right—maybe it was their absence or maybe it was the unsurity of the new life looming ahead, but the tall towers of newly-renamed Battery City were definitely more forbosing than they remembered. The metal-and-glass spears of broken buildings pierced the slate-gray sky, dark, looming and colorless. It looked nothing like the sunny, thriving city they'd left behind.

Could so much really have changed in so little time?

The debris-covered freeway gave way to tight city streets within time, and buildings began to appear around the van, progressing in height the farther they got. Fallen pieces of apartments and chunks of sidewalk littered the streets. Rob handled the van recklessly around the streets, tipping it up on two wheels and frantically swerving to maneuver their vehicle around all of the shit left from Day Zero.

"Shit-Rob-ob-ob," Brad wailed as they bounced over multiple speed bumps, clinging to Phoenix for dear life. "Slow the fuck-uck-uck down!"

"I am!" Rob yelled back, turning another corner at an incredibly high speed.

Mike looked back at Joe. The Korean man's face was white with terror and his hands were locked onto the back of Mike's seat, his eyes wide with fear.

"Just find somewhere to pull over!" exclaimed Mike, turning back to face the windshield. "It doesn't matter where, but just _stop!_"

"Everything's full!" Rob growled. He threw wild glances from side to side, trying to find an empty space adjacent to the city block.

With a bump, the van jolted over a large chunk of asphalt, throwing everyone into the air. Mike tumbled into Rob, slamming his shoulder into the drummer and knocking the steering wheel to the left, steering the van up and onto the sidewalk.

"Shit shit shit shit shit!" Rob shrieked, wrenching the wheel to the right again. The van rode up on one wheel, balancing for an infinitesimal second on the front right edge of the car. Mike grabbed hold of Rob's hand. Somebody screamed.

And then the van fell back to the road with a crash. The vehicle launched itself to the side, screeching. The engine stalled.

Joe peeked out the window cautiously and, shocked, was met with the familiar front of downtown Los Angeles' Spaceland Rock Club.

"Whoa," he whispered reverently.

"What?" The other four men scrambled to the windows. Gasps and exclamations of surprise filled the small van, tumbling into the cool morning air as Joe slid open the door.

"Like fate," Mike whispered. He approached the club reverently, laying one hand on the metal door. It swung open easily. All five held their breath.

It was burned down.

Past the initial front wall of the building, which was coal-blackened but still standing, the club was only a burned-out husk. All that was left of the bar was a few twisted glass bottles and a metal cashier's till. The stage had been reduced to a pile of ashes.

Mike's jaw dropped open as he stood, frozen inside the doorway. His legs suddenly refused to work. "No," he mouthed. The word never formed in his throat—his vocal cords had become unusable.

Memories from the empty space flooded over the band: auditions, sound checks, concerts. Their first gigs. Their first sold-out show. The night before the world exploded.

It was all gone.

In a sudden burst of movement and desperate hope, Mike rushed to the back of the club where the backstage area used to be. The amps, the mic stand, the soundboard—everything was only cinders.

"Mike—" he heard Rob call. He could make out Joe and Brad's muttered conversation: "We can't play here." "We'll have to go back." "There's no way this will work."

"Shut up," he yelled. "_Shut up!_"

The emcee fell to the floor, clutching at handfuls of blackened ashes.

His world was gone.


	11. Dreaming on the Getaway Mile

**Hi guys :D I know a lot of you have been missing MCR, right? This _is _supposed to be a primarily MCR fic after all xDD well, you'll be seeing a lot more of them from now on, I promise. Enjoy chapter 11! ^_^**

CHAPTER 11: DREAMING ON THE GETAWAY MILE

June 09, 2013

An Abandoned Shopping Mall, Battery City, California

11:57 AM

Gerard stared listlessly at the radio, twisting the tuning knob left and right randomly. His mind wasn't on his actions—it was just that he had nothing better to do.

He missed the music. Before, there had at least been tunes, emotion and guitar and bass and words to fill the empty, lazy days at the mall. But that morning Ray had flipped on the radio to find that the normal rock songs that played from the station almost twenty-four-seven had been replaced with pure static obscuring the airwaves. The two had spent their morning trying to fix the device, but eventually Ray had given up on it and gone off to an unknown location in the mall with Frank. Mikey was probably out on the streets, visiting those homeless kids as he often did. Either way, Gerard was alone.

He spun the dial to the right, annoyed, and then twisted it back to the left. He switched to the AM frequency. He twiddled the volume and even replaced the batteries, but no matter what he did, the music refused to come back.

Angrily, Gerard hit the radio and turned away from the device, flopping back onto his mattress. The static buzzed. A moment later, the boy sat up again.

"What was that?" he muttered, scrambling to the radio again. He had sworn, just a moment earlier…

And there it was again: _Anti-BL/ind, rebels. _The words were barely audible through the static but they were there.

"What the fuck…"

Gerard once again seized hold of the tuning dial, but this time took care to turn it only a fraction in either direction at a time. He focused all of his concentration onto the small gray device.

And suddenly, there was a loud male voice filling the space of the mall's center.

"Gerard!" the boy heard his brother call. "I'm back—"

"Shh!" Gerard cut him off, staring intently at the radio. Mikey walked up behind him, peering down at the older boy lying stretched out across his mattress on the floor of the mall.

_You're here with me, Doctor D, _the radio spit out. _I've got Revolution and Adrenaline here as special guests. Brushed with the police out near the station today—we didn't know they were infiltrating the desert. Keep your eyes peeled, Killjoys._

"What _is _this?" Mikey murmured incredulously. He sat down cross-legged on the floor next to Gerard, still staring at the device.

"No idea," replied Gerard. "I just found it trying to get the music back."

The broadcast continued, a new voice entering the conversation. _Out here in the Mojave, the days are getting hotter and the law is getting stronger. But don't lose hope, rebels. Us Killjoys will keep you supplied with anti-BL/ind propaganda till we get ourselves killed…_

_Revolution's in a morbid mood today, _a third one cut in, laughing.

"Killjoys? Propaganda? Revolution?" Frank blurted out. Gerard and Mikey glanced over their shoulders, surprised, to see Ray and Frank had reappeared from wherever it was they had been exploring.

"We're trying to figure it out ourselves," explained Gerard. "It's all really confusing—I just found it like a minute ago—but it sounds like some kind of anti-Better Living station…"

"Sounds like they're using a code," Ray muttered. "I can't understand half the shit they're saying!"

The radio picked up again, the first voice coming through loud and clear: _Stay tuned, tumbleweeds. We'll stay out here in the desert, trying to kick start this rebel movement. Don't forget to spread the word…This is Doctor D, signing off. Killjoys, make some noise!_

The voices suddenly cut into static, breaking the four boys out of their reverie. They jolted back as if they had been physically shocked. None of them spoke for a couple minutes.

Then Ray broke the silence. "Kick start the rebel movement? Against _BL/ind?"_

"Since when was there a rebel movement?" added Mikey.

"And who's Doctor D?" Frank questioned.

"And they all live in the _Mojave Desert_?" Gerard concluded. "But there's nothing out there…"

"This is absolutely crazy," Mikey muttered. "Who _are _these people?"

Ray smiled grimly. "The only way to find out is to keep listening."

Doctor D and the Killjoys didn't make a return on the airwaves until eight o'clock that night, even though the boys had left the radio blasting full volume all afternoon just in case anything came on. Ray and Gerard had barely returned from their nightly food-scavenging trip when Frank ran up to them, winded.

"They're back," he exclaimed. He didn't have to say who—all three knew exactly who he was talking about. They hadn't thought about anything else all day.

Hurriedly, the two dropped their scavenged bags of supplies and threw themselves down onto the mattresses in front of the portable radio. Sure enough, one of the voices from earlier was saying, _Revolution here, checking in for the night show. Doctor D and Adrenaline just got back from a recon mission—situations have not changed in the city._

"Recon mission?" Ray murmured excitedly. "Sounds like a spy movie."

_Killjoys, we're counting on you. There's only so much we can do out here in the desert—with only three people, it's too dangerous to actively recruit. But don't lose hope!_

The word _recruit _sparked something in Gerard's brain, triggering a huge grin to begin spreading across his face. This group of rebels—these 'Killjoys'—were r_ecruiting_ for an anti-BL/ind group? It was too perfect! This was just what he had been looking for!

His look of sudden excitement did not go unnoticed by his friends. Mikey groaned, sure he knew what was coming next, and Frank perked up excitedly.

"They're recruiting!" Gerard exclaimed, staring at his friends wide-eyed. "They want people to join!"

In the background, Revolution continued _Do what you can in the city, and we'll do what we can here in the Mojave. Revolution out—Killjoys, make some noise._

"Gerard, we know what you're going to say…" Ray warned.

"But it's _perfect!_" The young man's eyes gleamed with excitement. "Think about it. There are already people out there—they've set everything up perfectly! They've obviously got a place set up out there where we can go live…and they're just like us! They hate the government!"

Mikey, Ray and Frank let their friend talk himself out before trying to interrupt him. They knew from experience that he wouldn't be able to shut up until he'd made his point. But as soon as he paused, leaning back on his hands and smiling at the rest of his group, they cut in.

Frank piped up first. "I agree," he stated carefully. Gerard's entire face lit up, and Frank threw a quick grin at him. "This is what we've been protesting for, right? It makes sense, and it seems safer than what we're doing right now…"

"Yeah, same here," Ray nodded. "It's not like we're doing anything important in Battery City. There's no point for anything anymore. It would be like an adventure—we could finally _do _something with our lives!"

The three then turned to look at Mikey, who hadn't spoken since the Killjoy radio announcement started again. He sat apart from his friends wearing a stoic expression and with his arms crossed.

"It's not worth it," he stated bluntly. "I hate BL/ind as much as you do. But this is dangerous. I mean, we have no idea who Doctor D or Revolution or Adrenaline is! Why should we give up our safety for it?"

He leaned back, looking as if there was no argument, but Gerard stared him down, catching his gaze and refusing to look away. Identical pairs of brown irises met and locked.

"Hayley Williams," Gerard said slowly, dragging the two words out for emphasis.

Mikey's face blanched. His hands curled into tight fists at his sides and then relaxed, his face registering shock and emotion. He turned away from his friends quickly.

"You told me to remind you," his brother said quietly. "You made me swear it."

The boy nodded, his back still turned. "Thanks, Gee," he mumbled.

"Any time."

Mikey stood abruptly and stalked off as he did when angry or thoughtful. Gerard, Frank and Ray were used to it by now, and they knew not to disturb him. But as soon as his brother was out of earshot, Gerard fell back onto his mattress and cheered, throwing a fist into the air and grinning from ear to ear.

"We're going to be _Killjoys_!" he yelled. "Hear that, Better Living Industries? We're coming for you!"

Ray cracked up, stifling his laughter with one hand, and added "Be afraid, Draculoids! Very afraid!"

"I wonder if we'll get fancy names, too," Frank giggled.

"I wonder where we'll be living!"

"Oh, and if we'll get to do those recon mission thingies Revolution was talking about!"

"I wonder who Revolution _is!_"

"And Doctor D and Adrenaline!"

The questions continued, slowly increasing in both volume and ridiculousness until the three boys collapsed in a fit of laughter, gasping for air and splayed across Gerard's mattress. Ray's hair landed in Gerard's face, setting off another round of giggles as he complained "Move your fro, Ray, it tickles!"

Eventually, Mikey rejoined them to find his three comrades still in that position, half-asleep. No one asked the youngest what he had been doing. Instead, he shook them awake and asked Ray what he was supposed to do for dinner.

"There's food over there…" Ray waved his hand expansively in the direction of where he and Gerard had dropped the food earlier. "Figure something out, would you? I have zero energy."

"Lazy ass," Mikey teased, poking the curly-haired boy and smirking. "But only cause I'm a good friend."

"Love you too, Way!" Ray called mockingly. Frank extricated himself from the pile of limbs that was his best friend to go and help the younger boy.

Mikey groaned as he tore open the plastic bag. "Nutella, Pringles, stale hamburger buns, frozen spinach and Doctor Pepper? This is the best you can do?"

"Limited resources, remember?" Gerard called back tiredly.

"At least there's food," Ray added.

The mousy-haired boy rolled his eyes, laying out the supplies in front of him. "This is gonna taste like shit, no matter what I do with it," he warned.

"Doesn't it always?"

"Shut up, Gee," his brother complained.

"Just kidding!"

The boys fell asleep on full stomachs that night, the Pringles, Nutella and bread combined into sandwiches that actually didn't taste half-bad and the spinach left untouched. The quality of food was forgotten, though, in favor of the far more important discussion that took place over dinner. It revolved around the mysterious Killjoys and their new role in the rebellion.

Gerard could hardly sleep that night, instead laying awake and staring at the stars through the mall ceiling's domed-glass skylight. The radio broadcasts and his group's consequential discussion kept playing over and over in his mind.

_Rebels. Anti-BL/ind. Killjoys. _The words, hard and explosive in his thoughts, interwove themselves into his sketchy plans for the future, reinventing all his ideas. He was going to have a new role in society now. He was going to be a rebel fighter. He was going to fight the power!

Never, in his pre-apocalypse life, had he ever imagined his life would turn out this way. Sure, the radio show didn't have a lot to go on, but he knew he was going to be living in the desert with six other men, fighting the new government in a desolate, post-apocalyptic world. It sounded like the premise of one of his beloved comic books.

Unbeknownst to him, none of his friends could sleep, either. All four lay awake in the dark, sure that they were the only one awake, the only one whose mind was running a mile a minute. Ray could barely contain his excitement—the mystery! The adventure! Life at the mall was unbelievably monotonous. Becoming one of these 'Killjoys', whatever they were, would be the complete opposite.

Frank was occupied with thoughts o f logistics, knowing none of the other three would think of these things and deciding that he would have to do it himself. Food, water, transportation and clothing would be the most important—everything except the car was readily available in the mall; hopefully it wouldn't be too hard to find the last item. But as for actually _finding _the Killjoys? He had no idea.

And as Mikey lay awake in the darkness, his thoughts, too, raced, but not around anything pertaining to his new life. No he thought more about what he would be leaving behind—well, one thing in particular.

Hayley Williams was the best friend he'd ever had, save the three men lying in the mall with him. He visited her nearly every day. He was willing to admit he'd grown attached to the young, redheaded orphan. How could he leave her behind without an explanation?

As morning rose on the four boys, they packed quickly, eager to get this new phase of their lives into action. Ray chattered endlessly and excitedly. Mikey, in total contrast, was silent as he ran one last check of all the mall's stores, making sure they hadn't missed anything remotely useful.

The first words he said all morning were just as they were leaving the building. "I've got to stop somewhere before we go," he told his friends. "It'll be quick, I promise. You guys can come with me."

They knew without asking where Mikey would go. All the same, Ray, Frank and Gerard followed the youngest of the group to the collapsed subway station where Hayley and her small group lived. They stood awkwardly to the side as Mikey embraced the tiny girl, whispering something to her about where they would be. When he finally pulled away, silvery tears were visible in the corners of his eyes.

"I'll miss her," he stated simply as he rejoined the group. Wordlessly, Gerard put an arm around his brother's shoulders, offering silent comfort.

But any bad mood was soon forgotten as they came across a car dealership, jacking the flashiest convertible they could find. While Frank broke into the building and found the keys, Mikey, Gerard and Ray loaded the vehicle full of all the mall's valuables.

_It was finally happening, _Gerard thought as he took the wheel. The car came to life with a smooth purr as he inserted the key.

"Here goes nothing," he muttered.

And as the red car squealed out of the parking lot in a flash of burning rubber, the four boys let out an overwhelming, ecstatic cheer.

Phase two of their post-apocalyptic lives had finally begun.

"What do we do when we get to the desert?" yelled Ray from the backseat, his curly hair flying in the wind.

"Doctor D mentioned a 'station,'" Gerard reminded him. "Keep your eyes peeled for anything that looks remotely like it, then…"

Frank flipped on the radio, quickly flipping to the exact frequency they had memorized to be the Killjoy station. There was only static right now, but as they'd learned, the announcements were few and far between.

"What are we supposed to do once we find them?" he muttered, spinning the volume dial absently.

"Whatever they tell us to," Gerard answered.

"Because that's _such _a safe, foolhardy plan…"

"Well, it's the only one we've got unless you can think of anything better," the oldest boy challenged. Frank sighed and watched the city recede into the distance in the rearview mirror, its' broken spires slowly becoming smaller and smaller until they finally faded out of sight.

Gradually, the scenery around the moving car changed from dark, monochrome metals and broken remnants of an old civilization into sandy, dry desert. Mountains loomed in the distance. Small, scrubby trees populated the area far from the road, dark green and prickly.

And to their surprise, it was bursting with color.

It was as if BL/ind had even managed to control the weather in their old home, because the stormy gray skies were rapidly being replaced by brilliant, cloudless blue the farther into the desert they drove. Bright golden sand reflected the plentiful sunlight and green desert plants sprung up along the road. Shocked, the boys realized exactly how devoid of color their old life really had been.

At twelve o'clock exactly, the radio buzzed. Frank grabbed hold of the dial and carefully twisted it until the voice came into focus again.

_Welcome back, tumbleweeds. Doctor D has returned._

"Damn straight he has," Mikey mumbled.

_Rebellion efforts are going…well, they're not going. Does anyone even know about this station? If you do, Killjoys, then holler, because if we can't hear you, then neither can BL/ind. Things sure are quiet here at the motel…_

"Motel!" Ray gasped, pointing to a sign that had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, on the left side of the road. The small blue piece of metal proclaimed _Motel 6, 30 miles. _

"Perfect!" Gerard's eyes gleamed. He poured on the speed, sending the small vehicle shooting down the dusty desert route at nearly 100 miles per hour.

_Almost _too _quiet. Makes you think something big is going to happen—and soon._

"I guess he's expecting us," Frank joked.

_Well, there's not a lot to report—Doctor D's done for today. Killjoys, make some noise._

The radio alert had come at the perfect time. Gerard shot past the Dead Pegasus Gas Station, yelling out "Station!" in reference to an earlier announcement as they passed. Another blue sign pointed him down the same road—in fact, the only road they'd seen since entering the desert.

"Doctor D, here we come," he murmured, his brow furrowed in concentration.

The miles shot by on the odometer: twenty-five to go, now twenty, now ten. The shape of a small, low-slung building began to appear out of the shimmering horizon. At seven miles, a sign began to appear, proclaiming _Stay at Motel 6 Tonight! _At three, they could see another car poised at the entrance to the parking lot as if preparing to leave.

"Shit," Frank muttered. "Step on it, Gee!"

And with one last burst of speed, Gerard swung the convertible around to block the exit from the motel parking lot, stomping the brake once in position. Tires squealed, sending up a burst of dust from the edge of the road, and the back wheels fishtailed, leaving long streaks of black rubber on the road behind them.

Coolly, as if nothing had happened, he pulled open the door to his car and stepped out. A black-haired man had risen out of the other vehicle, shielding his eyes against the sun.

"Hi, Doctor D," the teenage boy called. "We've been looking for you."


	12. Your Slogan's A Gun for Hire

**Hey guys x) I've had such a stressful week, I'm really glad it's over. First high school midterms and all that bullshit. I did manage to get a ton written in my non-exam times, so that's one good thing 3 Lots of you enjoyed the return of MCR last chapter...I can safely say after all the writing I've done that they'll be in nearly every chapter from this point onwards xD**

**Enjoy, don't forget to review!**

CHAPTER 12: YOUR SLOGAN'S A GUN FOR HIRE, IT'S WHAT WE'VE WAITED FOR

June 10, 2013

A Deserted Warehouse, the Mojave Desert

7:30 AM

"_Why _did you guys give me the morning shift?" Tré complained, fumbling for his cell phone which had begun to ring incessantly as it did each morning at that time of day.

"You lost rock, paper, scissors," Billie mumbled. His words were muffled by the pillow he hid his head under to shield his ears from the loud alarm.

"Fuck rock, paper, scissors," groaned the other man as he rose lazily from the mattress. "Why do we need a show at eight in the morning, anyway? No normal person is a wake at 7:30 in the goddamn morning!"

"You just called yourself abnormal," Mike called out sleepily.

"Fuck you, Mike!"

"Good morning to you too, Tré."

This was how most mornings these days started: Tré having to wake up early, making as much noise as possible so that there was no chance of Billie and Mike being able to sleep again, and hen going off to do the eight o'clock broadcast from the Motel 6 half an hour away from the warehouse. Giving Tré the morning shift probably _had _been a bad idea—he really was not a morning person at all—but he _had _lost…

"I'll be back in a couple hours, _probably…_" Tré called out. He pulled open the warehouse doors, flooding the small space with light.

"_Close it!_" Billie yelled, covering his eyes with the pillow he had just removed from his head. The door thankfully slammed shut behind his fried as Tré exited.

"We really need to move these upstairs," Mike groaned, slowly sitting up in bed. He stretched his arms over his head lazily and yawned.

Billie nodded his agreement. Moving the mattresses to one of the rooms that led off of the catwalk-style railing that was the second floor had been a topic of discussion for a while now. For some reason, they had just never gotten around to it. It would probably help in the mornings, though, so that Tré couldn't antagonize them with harsh sunlight any longer…

"Tomorrow," he said decisively. "We'll make Tré help us, too. We really should start trying to make this place look a bit more hospitable, shouldn't we?"

"Why do we have to? It's not like anyone else is gonna be living here…" Mike groaned, slowly rising out of bed.

"What about recruits for the Killjoys?" Billie challenged.

Mike turned around halfway to their dwindling food stash in the corner and raised an eyebrow at his friend. "Billie," he stated, "there _are _no more recruits."

"But what about the radio show?" asked Billie. "We've been giving blatant hints as to where we are! We should be getting new kids any time now!"

"And you really think any sane person would risk their lives to drive out here and try to find us, chasing the hope of a rebellion?" The younger man shook his head, turning back to the food pile. "Face it, we're alone out here," he called.

Billie groaned and rolled onto his back so he was staring at the ceiling. He didn't want to believe Mike's words, but…

"This whole Killjoy project is going nowhere," Mike continued. "I'm starting to think we should just give it up."

Mike's suggestion shocked Billie, but it wasn't exactly a surprise, either. He'd kind of known it was coming. Although all three of them had been completely dedicated to the project at the beginning, as the months progressed and nothing happened, he could see his friends' faith in the idea begin to wane. Their radio broadcasts became less informative and more bored monotone, and they no longer seemed interested in Billie's plans involving the nonexistent new recruits. The truth was that nothing was going to happen without more people.

"We should just stop the broadcasts," he vaguely heard Mike continue through the sudden buzzing in his ears.

"No!" Billie burst. Mike turned to look at him, confused by the outburst.

"Not without saying goodbye," the raven-haired man begged. "One more show, Mike. Tonight. If we don't have any new Killjoys by Revolution's eight o'clock show tonight, we'll shut it down."

"Completely?" Mike raised an eyebrow.

"Completely."

He sighed heavily, watching Billie as the other man rose from his mattress on the floor and began to get dressed. "Are you sure about this, Billie?" he asked, carefully observing the blatant disappointment in his friend's face.

"Yeah," Billie answered. He pulled a t-shirt over his head, mussing his raven hair even more than the already-present bed head. "I'm sure."

Breakfast was a quiet affair. Neither Billie nor Mike felt up to talking. Tré came back at about eight forty-five, exhausted and grouchy as usual, and immediately fell asleep. Billie tried to read as he did when nervous or angry, but the words on the page swam around in front of him, scrambling into undecipherable phrases.

He snapped the book shut angrily and stood. Mike looked up from his mattress, where he was watching some BL/ind television news show on mute. "What's happening?" he asked.

"Going for a drive," Billie mumbled, grabbing the car keys. "Need to clear my head."

The sun was a welcome relief from the almost-total darkness the warehouse was usually kept in. The desert was always sunny, contrary to the odd cloud mass that usually hung over Battery City nowadays. But out here in the desert, everything was bursting with light and color—a world almost larger than life. Billie loved it more than anything.

He climbed into the Trans-Am he and his friends had found and opened the sun roof, letting the interior of the car soak with heat rays before starting the car. The glowing clock on the dashboard read ten forty-six—he had an hour before he had to be at the Motel for his noontime Killjoy announcement. Perfect.

There wasn't a ton of stuff in the desert, but in a way, that made it even better. The three men had only seen three buildings in the entire area they had explored so far: the abandoned Dead Pegasus gas station, the convenience store ransacked but the gas pumps still pleasantly full; the Motel 6, which they'd found only three months age in a state of total disarray and had set up the radio base at; and their own warehouse, their home base. The rest of the desert was only dry golden sand, scrubby green bushes, black roads and always the endless blue sky that shone over everything. The weather never changed—it hadn't rained once since that first night. The sky was always sunny, cloudless aquamarine.

Billie drove for an hour under that aquamarine sky. He loved the desert more than anywhere else he'd ever lived. It had absolutely become his home. He knew every road for miles around that shot through the golden sands, black scars on the area's face. But even they fit into the desert somehow.

Eventually, though, he turned the car around and sped back towards the motel. Sand and scrub and sky and mountains blurred past the windows until the motel rose in the distance, low and long. The building was all too familiar to him now. He could see everything for miles from anywhere in the desert—the landscape out here was flat and bare, with nothing to block the very few landmarks from sight.

What was he supposed to say for the announcement now? There had been absolutely nothing to happen all day, BL/ind hadn't done anything at all relevant to their current situation, and the entire show was on the verge of collapsing. This would be Doctor D's last individual show ever. Billie felt like he should do something more final, but he had no ideas.

He pulled the car into the parking lot, pulling it up in front of the door as usual, and yanked open his car door. The engine cut with a grumble as he removed the key and swung his legs out. The door slammed shut behind him. A blast of cool air hit his face when he pulled open the motel door.

He checked his watch. 11:57. Right on time.

Billie made his way to the reception desk where three months ago, he had set up the weird combination of laptop, headphones and microphone that Mike had rigged to hack into the FM airwaves of California and the surrounding regions. The laptop was still on from when Tré had visited that morning.

Slowly, as if performing some sort of ritual, he slipped the headphones over his ears and double-clicked the radio-hacking program saved on the desktop. The familiar screen pulled up, his cursor poised over the little red dot that would put him on the air.

11:59…he sat, watching the clock absently and going over what he would say. He still had no ideas…

The clock flicked over to 12:00 suddenly, and Billie startled, his finger slamming down on the keypad. _Shit._

He cleared his throat nervously, allowing himself a moment to get in character—he couldn't be Billie Joe Armstrong, twenty-something and with no purpose, any longer. For the next five minutes he was Doctor D, confident, eccentric rebel leader.

"Welcome back, tumbleweeds," he said into the microphone. "Doctor D has returned."

_Now what?_

"Rebellion efforts are going…" _Fuck, Billie, why'd you say that? _"Well, they're not going," he finished lamely. "Does anyone even know about this station? If you do, Killjoys, then holler, because if we can't hear you, then neither can BL/ind." He left out the fact that if more Killjoys didn't start showing up _right fucking now, _there wouldn't _be _any more Killjoys or rebellion efforts.

He sighed heavily, propping his chin in his hand. "Things sure are quiet here at the Motel," he announced boredly, throwing a cursory glance around the messy space. "Almost _too _quiet. Makes you think something big is going to happen—and soon." _Or so I hope… _

It really was quiet, though. The silence was stifling. Billie groaned again, tapping his fingers on the desk.

"Well, there's not a lot to report," he said tiredly. _Understatement of the year. _"Doctor D's done for today. Killjoys, make some noise."

That last phrase nearly brought tears to his eyes. Every single radio broadcast the three had ever done, from the very first one, had ended with those four words. And now it was the last time he'd ever say them.

Billie pressed the 'stop recording' button savagely and pulled off the headset, throwing it on the desk.

The last time. _Ever._

The glass doors slammed shut behind him with a sense of finality. Suddenly, all the anger drained from the small man's form, and his shoulders slumped. It was _over._

He got into his car dejectedly, pulling it out from under the hotel's awning and up to the exit to the parking lot. Even though there were never any other vehicles in the entire desert, some of his good driver-habits were still ingrained in his mind. He looked right, revved the engine, and then glanced left—

_Holy. Shit._

Billie shook his head, sure he was hallucinating. Because there _couldn't _be another car here, skidding to a stop in front of his own vehicle and leaving rubber tire marks as it halted. There_ couldn't _be anyone else in the desert. It didn't make sense…

He got out of his car cautiously, staring at the other vehicle. It was a fancy-looking convertible, top down, with four seats out of five filled. He couldn't see much of the people inside—but now the driver was getting up, watching Billie excitedly. His black hair shone in the sunlight.

"Hi, Doctor D," he called out, removing a pair of sunglasses. "We've been looking for you."

_Doctor D? _Billie's mind went blank at the name, and he could only gawk at the boys. To be fair, it seemed like the younger man was doing exactly the same thing—drop-jawed in shock and amazement.

"That was quite an entrance," he smirked, watching for the boy's reaction. A large, excited smile grew on his face, and he gestured for the other people in the car to come forward.

"First of all: names," Billie announced as the boy walked toward him, the other three in tow. "And then tell me why you're looking for me."

"Ray Toro, Mikey Way, Frank Iero and I'm Gerard Way," he stated, pointing to each boy as he introduced them. "We're here to join the Killjoys."

"Are you—are you serious?" Billie couldn't keep the blatant note of excitement out of his voice. He hadn't even dared to dream of this—when he'd made the deal with Mike that morning, he'd been fully prepared to give up every notion of the Killjoys. But standing in front of him were the new recruits he hadn't even been able to hope for. It was nothing short of a miracle.

"Completely," Frank said seriously. "We hate BL/ind. We want to do everything we can to stop them."

"Then you've come to the right place," Billie grinned. "I was just about to leave for the base. Follow me—it's not easy to get lost out here, all the roads connect eventually, but it can get confusing."

"Awesome." Gerard smiled brightly. He looked so enthusiastic, absolutely ready to follow the older man to wherever he was going. Billie still couldn't believe they were actually _there_…

"Right—er, follow me," the older man stuttered, retreating back to his car. He pulled out of the lot, checking the rearview mirror before gunning the engine and setting off down the straight road. Gerard and his friends followed.

Gerard. Frank. Mikey. Ray. Billie ran over their names in his mind, trying to imagine how the sudden new additions to their tiny gang would fit into his, Tré's and Mike's lives. From what he could see, Gerard and Frank seemed eager and extroverted, ready to learn about their new way of living. Ray was quieter, but he had still smiled exuberantly, letting his friends express his feelings for him. But Mikey…Mikey hadn't smiled once. It seemed less as if he was angry or skeptical, just sad in a way. Maybe he would tell them about that later…

It didn't matter—a recruit was a recruit. As long as Mikey wanted to be a Killjoy, he sure as hell wasn't going to turn him away.

What the fuck were Tré and Mike going to say about the younger men, though? Billie was still shocked himself, and he was the only one who even held a shred of confidence in the Killjoy project anymore! And suddenly, four boys appeared out of nowhere to air in the rebellion efforts and basically become a part of their lives. How was this going to affect the whole dynamic?

_Well, I guess there's only one way to find out…_

The drive seemed t abnormally long that day, stretched far beyond the usual half-hour it took to get home. Maybe it was because he wasn't speeding as much so as not to lose the other car, or msybe it was just his nerves about Tré and Mike meeting Gerard, Ray, Frank and Mikey, but the clock seemed to slow down as he neared the warehouse.

Finally, he pulled the car up in front of the hulking building, cutting the engine after he parked. Gerard and his crew pulled up right behind him.

The younger boy's eyes sparkled as he jumped out of the car. "This is where you live?" he asked, intrigued.

"Yeah. It's the first place we found when we came out here."

"What's at the motel, then?" Ray piped up for the first time.

"We do all the radio broadcasts from there," Billie explained. "Just in case BL/ind finds the station and starts trying to track the signal, they won't find us unless we're actually doing an announcement at the time. Safety precaution."

"And what about Revolution and Adrenaline? Who are they?" Frank asked curiously.

Billie took a deep breath. "Well, you're about to meet them."

With a confidence he didn't feel at all, the man pushed open the doors to the warehouse caking out "I'm home!" The four boys crowded the doorway, peeking in almost nervously but not entering.

Mike rolled over on his mattress to face him. "Hey, Billie. How'd it go?"

"Well…" _Oh God, _Billie thought, _here we go. _"Actually…you'll never guess what happened."

"What?" His statement had obviously caught Tré's attention, because both of his best friends were looking at him curiously now.

"There's some people you need to meet," he announced. "Guys—" he gestured to the boys waiting by the door to come in—"meet Revolution and Adrenaline. Mike and Tré, meet Gerard, Frank, Ray and Mikey, the newest recruits for the Killjoys."

Tré and Mike were struck completely speechless. All they could do was stare at the four younger boys who stood awkwardly just inside the entrance. The teenagers, in turn, watched their reactions, confused.

"Bet's off, by the way," Billie called to Mike flippantly as he walked past. "Welcome to your new home, guys."

"Whoa," Frank breathed, taking a tentative step inside. "This place is fucking _massive."_

"Are we the only ones?" Ray asked.

"So far, yeah, it's just the seven of us," Billie replied.

"Are there more coming?"

"Not that we know of," he shrugged. "It's pretty informal—come and go whenever you feel like it. Truth is, you're the first ones to actually come and join us."

"We're not sure exactly what we're doing," Mike confessed. Apparently he'd gotten his mouth to work again.

"Well, rebellion, right? The radio show and those recon missions you talked about?" suggested Gerard.

_Oh. _The recon missions. They weren't r_eally _recon, Mike just thought that 'routine expedition to search for food' was too wordy and not Killjoy enough. They _did _check on BL/ind sometimes, but only by driving past the center of the city to see if the white-suited policemen were still patrolling the sidewalks.

"Sort of, yeah," Billie stuttered.

"Just show us what you do every day," Gerard answered brightly. "We'll catch on soon enough."

The older man had a feeling the recruits were about to be bitterly disappointed.

It didn't take long for Billie, Tré and Mike to explain their daily routine to the eager boys: the three radio shows per day at eight AM, noon and eight PM; the weekly 'recon missions' to Battery City; and the general laziness and boredom of desert life. There really was almost nothing to do during the day, but the three tried not to let that show in case it made the sudden additions reconsider.

The boys didn't look like they wanted to reconsider, though. Gerard and Frank hadn't stopped smiling once since setting foot inside the warehouse, and Ray, although more conserved with his emotions, was nodding along as if he understood. Even Mikey seemed to be determined in his efforts to help.

Billie was still trying to figure Mikey out. The boy was obviously younger than his three friends, and he assumed the younger brother of Gerard due to the similar last names, but he was jaded in a way his comrades were not. He didn't burn with that intense, high-octane fire his friends seemed to. Instead, he was quietly determined. Definitely not emotionless, though. His face was still a mask of sorrow, as it had been since they first met.

Mikey was going to have to remain an enigma for a bit longer, though. Frank and Gerard had taken over the telling of the group's history, cutting in and finishing each other's sentences in an effort to get the whole thing out. It sounded like the four of them had been determined to protest before they'd even heard of the Killjoys—shockingly, they'd been the ones who had caused the massive stir at the Hawthorne Towers rally with their anti-BL/ind poster and a speech Frank had made.

"That was _you?_" Tré gawked, almost unable to believe it.

"Yeah, that was us," Gerard nodded seriously. "The Draculoid chased us away before we could see what happened."

"Draculoids?"

"That's just a nickname Ray made up for the white suit guys," Frank explained.

Tré nodded. "Fits them."

"But we've hated them for just as long as you have," the boy finished. "Maybe even longer."

"Good thing we found you…" Gerard added.

And it really was. Those boys were just what they needed to inject a shot of energy back into the dying Killjoy project. After bringing their stuff in from the car and throwing it into two of the rooms that lined the catwalk, all seven of the Killjoys drove back out to introduce the newly renamed Poison, Ghoul, Kobra and Jet to the listening world. (All four of them had been overly excited about picking names—even Mikey. They'd spent nearly fifteen minutes trying to pick the perfect one each.)

"What does the D in Doctor D stand for, anyway?" Gerard asked as they neared the hotel. He and Frank were riding with Billie in the Trans Am while Mike, Tré, Ray and Mikey were in theirs.

"Er…to be honest? Nothing," he confessed.

"It should mean _something, _though," the raven-haired boy mused. "Doctor Danger, maybe? Or Doctor Death?"

"I like Doctor Death," Frank piped up. "But it needs something more. That sounds too morbid. It needs to be upbeat…anti-death, kind of."

"Doctor Death _Defying,_" Gerard offered.

Surprisingly, Billie loved it. _Doctor Death Defying. _It had a ring to it.

"I like that," he commented.

"Suits you," Frank agreed.

Gerard grinned. "Then Doctor Death Defying you shall be."


	13. Why Cant You Stay Long Enough to Explain

**Hi guys xD lol this would have been up a bit earlier, but ff seemed to be having issues tonight...**

**I really love this chapter, even if it's bittersweet 3 don't forget to read and review!**

CHAPTER 13: SO WHY CAN'T YOU STAY JUST LONG ENOUGH TO EXPLAIN?

June 10, 2013

A Subway Stop in Battery City, California

8:00 AM

"Rise and shine!" Jeremy called as he shook Hayley's shoulder.

Hayley groaned and rolled over in her sleeping bag, pulling her pillow over her head. "Five more minutes…" she grumbled.

"Nope, it's eight already!" the older boy said brightly, standing and making his way over to Alex, his next victim. Jack and Taylor were already sitting up, rubbing their eyes blearily.

The redheaded girl yawned and stretched her arms over her head. She knew the eight a.m. waking time was mandatory, one of the camp's new ground rules, but she still didn't see why it had to be so early…

"What's for breakfast?" Jack asked tiredly. His head was an amusingly disheveled mass of bed head.

"Same as usual," Jeremy called out from where he was busy waking Sierra. "What, did you expect an IHOP to magically appear in the middle of the night?"

"Ugh…" The brunette boy stood up, yawned one last time, and poured himself a bowl of dry cereal. Thanks to Mikey, the six of them could now have two semi-full meals per day, and they were forever grateful—even if there was far too much of the breakfast food and no variety.

Hayley reached for her hairbrush and sat up to try and make herself presentable. Just thinking about Mikey could do that to her, giving her a sudden need to fix her appearance. Was it a crush? The young girl wasn't sure yet, but she knew he was one of her closest friends and he'd saved her and the rest of her camp's lives many times over. Even better, he was such a funny, friendly, warm person around her, a bright light in her dark, cold life. They could talk for hours sometimes when he came to visit her as he did almost every day.

"Trying to look good for Mikey?" Jeremy teased, walking past her to get to the food.

Hayley stuck her tongue out. "Of course not!"

"Ooh, she's defensive!" Alex called out jokingly. "That's a sure sign of a crush."

"Oh, shut up, you!" she yelled, turning bright red.

Alex and Jeremy laughed. "You're far too easy to wind up," Jeremy grinned, patting her head. "Love you, Hay."

The young girl pouted, but eventually relaxed and smiled back. "Love you guys, too."

"Now come on, get some food before Jack eats it all," Jeremy joked.

With one last yank at her hair, Hayley slid out of the sleeping bag Mikey had given her and straightened the t-shirt and jeans she always wore. On the streets, they didn't have the luxury of changing clothes whenever they woke up—Hayley woke, ate, walked, slept and lived in that outfit. Occasionally she would switch it out if she found something else, but for the most part it was always the same.

The young girl was halfway through her bowl of cereal when Taylor called out, "Hayley's got a visitor!"

Hayley sprang up, dropping the bowl to the sidewalk and frantically running for the mouthwash to at least rid some of her morning breath.

"He's early today," Jack commented, squinting down the street. "And looks like he brought his whole entourage with him."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she called as she checked her reflection in a store window.

"Ray, Frank and Gerard are there too," the boy called back.

Weird. Hayley had met them before, of course, but it was usually just Mikey who came to visit…

"Hey, Taylor," Mikey's deep voice said, and Hayley spun around, smoothing her red hair one last time.

"Hi, Mikey," her friend responded. "Looking for Hayley?"

"Yep."

There was something weird in his voice, Hayley reckoned as se slowly approached him, grinning widely. He wasn't happy like he usually was. There was a sorrowful note there, and the usual smile was gone from his face.

"Morning, Mikey," she said as she reached him. "What's up?"

Mikey took a deep breath, taking her hand in his. Surprised but not uncomfortable, she glanced down at their lightly intertwined fingers before looking back up into his chocolate irises.

"We're leaving," he murmured quietly.

"_What?_"

Hayley was sure she had misunderstood his statement. By _leaving, _surely he must have meant that they were going on an overnight trip or something! Or maybe he and his friends had gotten an apartment in the city center…

"We're moving to the desert," he continued, gripping her hand tightly. "There's a rebel army forming out there, and we're going to join. We have to do something to help. We _have_ to."

Desperation. That was the word. Mikey's voice was unbearably desperate as he stared at Hayley, begging her to understand, to accept his decision.

But he was_ leaving!_

"Forever?" she gasped.

"As far as I know…" he exhaled heavily. "Yes. Forever."

Hayley's eyes began to brim with unshed tears, and she stared up into his eyes, searching for some sort of sign that it was all a joke. But he was completely serious—she could see that now. And to her shock and utter horror, he was beginning to cry, too.

Almost roughly, Mikey pulled Hayley to his chest and wrapped his arms around her, murmuring "I won't ever forget you, Hayley. Remember me."

"Always," the young girl sobbed back, clinging to him like her life depended on it.

He pulled away a little, still maintaining their embrace but able to look her in the face again. "Be safe," he whispered, stroking her cheek lightly.

"I'll come with you," she gasped out.

He shook his head slowly, holding her gaze. "It's too dangerous," he murmured. "You can't risk it. You're far too young…"

"And you aren't?" she questioned desperately.

"This is something I have to do, Hayley. It's what I believe in," he whispered passionately. "I need to have a purpose, and this is it! I'm meant to protest!"

A new emotion had been added to his words—determination. He was desperate to have her understand his motive, but so incredibly determined in his goal. Nothing she could say would stop him from going, and Hayley found that she no longer wanted to. She couldn't stop Mikey from joining this mysterious rebel army. It was what he wanted to do. She would have to be one cold-hearted bitch to hold him back.

"I believe you," Hayley said quietly.

Mikey smiled through softly shining tears. "Doesn't mean I'll miss you any less, though."

"S-same," she choked out. "C-can you at least t-tell me where you're going?"

"We're not even sure ourselves," he told her. "And even if I did know, I can't tell you right now—I don't want you to get in trouble with BL/ind if they ever come asking about us. But if things ever get too desperate…"

He slipped a small white envelope into her hand, folding her fingers around it with his own. It felt full, as if multiple pieces of paper had been shoved into the tiny container. Hayley glanced down at it: her name had been scribbled in messy, narrow handwriting with the words _In case you ever need me—Mikey _underneath.

"I don't want you to have to read it," he murmured. "I hope you find a home soon, and live as normal a life as you can. But if there's ever an emergency, and you need me—" he lightly touched the hand clutching the envelope he had given her—"I might not be with you physically, but I'll always be right here. Read it and do everything that it says."

"I will," she whispered.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Neither one wanted to let go, but finally, Mikey pulled away from Hayley. "Move into the mall," he suggested. "It's not the warmest or the most convenient, but it's better than this. And please, please promise me that you'll stay safe, Hayley. Please."

"I'll try," she grinned weakly.

He studied her face one last time as if trying to memorize it before he left her. Slowly, he bent down and pressed his lips to the top of her head.

"Love you," he whispered.

"Love you too."

And with one last sad, brilliant smile, Mikey Way walked out of Hayley Williams' life.

Hayley was numb for the rest of the day. She watched him walk down the street, waving at his back until he was completely out of sight, and then plodded back over to her sleeping bag, throwing herself onto the makeshift bed. She buried her face in the pillow and clutched his letter to her chest.

Mikey. _Gone. _He'd been one of the few constant things in her life. She'd always seen him as her protector, someone she could count on. He'd been right up there with Jeremy and Taylor on the small list of people she still loved. And how he had gone to join this army neither of them knew anything about, leaving her behind.

And now? Well, she still loved him, but would she ever see him again? From the way he'd been talking, she doubted it. But she still had that letter…

That letter that was all she had left of Mikey.

Over the coming years, Hayley would keep that letter safe under her pillow. She would take it out every night and hold it as she said her prayers, making sure to include Mikey Way, wherever he might be, each night with the rest of the list of her loved ones. But she never told anyone about it, its' contents, or who gave it to her. That was private.

For now, she could only clutch the letter to her chest and think of him, picturing his face, the sound of his voice, the feel of his warm hand in hers. She'd told him she wouldn't forget him, and she meant it. Hayley always kept her promises.

On the third day after Mikey left, Hayley finally got out of her sleeping bag, brushed out her hair, and began her day as if nothing had happened. Two days was all she would allow herself to mope. Mikey would hate for her to be this way. She had to carry on—for him.

So she told her friends everything, from the start of their conversation to the very end, omitting only the letter from her explanation. She finished with "He wanted us to move into the mall. I think he was right—at least we'll be a bit safer there."

"Agreed," Taylor piped up.

"And as soon as possible," Alex added.

Hayley nodded. "What about today?"

The members of her group nodded their assent, Sierra curiously questioning, "Do we get to go home?"

"From now on, it can be our home, honey," Taylor answered. A large smile grew on the young child's face, and she grabbed Taylor's hands and pulled him up, cheering. He laughed along with her exuberantly.

As the group dispersed to pack their things, Hayley hung back, remaining cross-legged in front of the empty can they used to make fires at night. Nobody noticed but Jeremy, who turned around halfway to his small sleeping area to check on his friend.

"You okay, Hayley?" he called out softly.

"Huh?" The young girl looked up, lifting her chin off of its' resting place on the folded knuckles of her hands. Her intense concentration on a spot on the gray sidewalk had been broken. "I'm fine, don't worry…"

But there must have been something in her voice that alerted Jeremy to knowing that she was not, in fact, fine, because he made his way back over to her slowly.

"You miss Mikey, don't you?" he asked softly, sitting down next to her.

She nodded silently and placed her head on his shoulder.

"I do, too," he murmured. "I know I wasn't as close to him as you were, but he was still a good friend to me. He helped us all."

Hayley was still mute. Whether by choice or because she legitimately could not speak, Jeremy wasn't sure.

"But he wouldn't want you to be like this," he continued.

"How do you know what Mikey would have wanted?" she muttered petulantly.

"Because Mikey was your friend, just like I'm your friend. And friends hate to see their friends feeling sad. Especially because of something they had to do."

The words were the same thoughts she'd been turning over in her mind since he left. She knew that Mikey wouldn't have wanted her to act like this and she was trying to get over it…but he was _gone._

"He would want you to carry on," Jeremy murmured, standing again. Hayley looked up at him, slightly confused.

"Be happy again," he advised her, placing a hand on her shoulder briefly. "Be that happy Hayley I used to know."

"I'll try," she whispered. She tilted her head farther back to see him better.

"Good." Jokingly, Jeremy ruffled her red hair. "And pack your stuff!"

"Sure thing," she sighed, finally rising from her seated position slowly.

In that moment, Hayley made a conscious decision to try and forget about Mikey as completely as she could. It wouldn't be easy, but she managed to think of him less and less that day as she and her small group packed up and moved out. Over the course of the three-block trek to the mall, she smiled three times and even laughed for the first time since he left.

Taking the first step through the broken-glass door was a bit harder. It felt sad to know that he had stepped over this very threshold every day on his way to visit her. But never the less, Hayley steeled herself and led her friends through the entryway, plastering a fake smile on her face.

"Welcome home, guys," she said loudly.

Sierra squealed and ran forward, grabbing Hayley's hand but not slowing down. She tugged the older girl farther into the mall, the four boys following behind them and laughing. Hayley giggled freely at the child's unabashed exuberance.

"Where are we staying?" Jack called out as he jogged to keep up with the pair.

"He talked about there being a mattress store on the second floor, right by the food court," Hayley mentioned, careful not to say his name.

"Look! Escalalalalator!" Sierra exclaimed, pointing one stubby finger ahead. "Can we ride the escalalalalator, Hayley?"

"I don't think it works, honey," she laughed.

Sierra pouted for a moment, but ran towards the tall metal transportation devices all the same. "I wanna see upstairs," she announced as her five guardians rushed to keep up with her.

The upstairs portion of the mall showed obvious signs of not only disaster, but other people living there previously, as well. Food wrappers were scattered around haphazardly, mud was tracked in the form of footprints, and various discarded objects from surrounding stores lay abandoned on the ground. In the center of what had obviously been the food court lay four mattresses.

"I think we found our new home," Alex grinned.

Sierra ran ahead, pulling a suddenly apprehensive Hayley after her, and flopped down onto one of the mattresses, snuggling into the black down duvet. "Comfy," she murmured.

Hayley, however, could only stand in silence and observe the scene. Three of the makeshift beds lay in obvious disarray, covered in clothes and unmade, but the last was clean and neat. Only one item lay on top—a black t-shirt that was instantly recognizable as Mikey's favorite.

This was where he had lived, where he had slept. It took all of her emotional restraint not to burst into tears at the sight.

"Hay?" Taylor asked quietly, coming up behind her.

She paused for one more second, her eyes locked on the t-shirt, and then turned her head away. "I'm fine," she said brusquely.

"Want to go get a bed from the store?" he suggested. "It's where Alex and I are going."

"I'll just take this one," she whispered, walking slowly over to Mikey's old bed.

"Are you sure?"

"Easier than moving another one out," she shrugged, trying to inject a flippant note into her voice.

"Alright…" he said doubtfully.

Gingerly, Hayley lowered herself onto the edge of the navy blanket. The worst part about this whole thing was that she could still imagine him here—sleeping, making food, laughing with his brother, writing that letter to her. It was like he'd left a small part of himself behind when he'd left.

And, really, he had. Hayley was seized with an uncontrollable urge to pick up the item of clothing lying ever-so-innocently on the bed. Was there any of him left in the fabric? Was it possible that by holding it, she would be able to reclaim a small part of her friend?

But wasn't she supposed to be trying to forget about Mikey?

She knew that grabbing his t-shirt would cause nothing but pain for her, but she missed him too much…

_Forget him, Hayley, _she told herself forcefully. _He's gone._

With every ounce of strength her tiny body possessed, she got up off of the bed and left his t-shirt lying where she had found it. Jack and Jeremy had claimed Frank and Ray's beds, Sierra still lying on what she assumed to be Gerard's old mattress from the familiar clothes and magazines lying around the area. Alex and Taylor were dragging another one out of the collapsed entrance to the Sleepy's mattress store.

"Give us a hand, Hayley?" Alex puffed out.

Oh, good—at least now she'd have something to take her mind off the sorrow. She tripped over to where the two boys stood struggling with the unwieldy piece of furniture.

"This thing is fucking heavy," Taylor groaned, pushing on the end with all his might. Silently, Hayley took her place next to him and began to shove at the mattress as well. With the efforts of the three of them combined, they managed to shift two more twin-sized mattresses out and into the food court, laying them parallel to the four already spread across the floor.

There wasn't a ton of food left in any of the small fast-food kiosks lining the large area, but there was more than enough for the six of them that night. They didn't mind that most of it was partly rotted—it was more than they'd had to eat in a long time, and after a long, happy lunch, they spent the afternoon exploring their new home. It turned out that a shopping mall was a pretty great post-apocalyptic place to live. The abandoned stores held nearly everything they would ever need to live comfortably—clothes, space heaters, blankets, one miraculously-working bathroom, and even more food that Mikey and his friends had left behind.

"I think Mikey just saved our lives," Jack commented over dinner.

"Thank God for him," Alex agreed, grinning. "I just wish he didn't have to leave, though…"

"Will he be back?" Sierra piped up.

Hayley sighed. "I don't think so, honey."

"Is he with Mommy and Daddy and Zack and God?" she asked innocently. The older girl gasped loudly.

"No, no, Mikey's very much still alive," Jeremy reassured her frantically. He threw a glance at Hayley, making sure she acknowledged the comment and didn't freak out. She, on her part, was doing her best to dispel any notions of a dead Mikey from her mind.

"I'm sure he's just fine," he soothed. "He's probably found the rebels by now. I bet he's safe and sound out in the desert."

"I hope so," she responded warily, holding his gaze.

Jeremy smiled softly. "Don't worry about it, Hay. He's fine, and so are we."

_He's fine, and so are we. _The sentence lingered in Hayley's mind all evening as she cleaned up after dinner and walked over to Mikey's old bed, sitting beside it a moment while trying to work up the nerve to actually slip into it.

_Don't worry about him, Hayley. He's fine._

Cautiously, she pulled the sheets back from the mattress and slipped beneath the covers. Warmth enveloped her instantly—and something else, too. The bed still smelled like him. It _felt _like him.

Hayley suddenly regretted her decision to sleep in his bed. Wouldn't it be better to leave it untouched, preserved, as if he would indeed be coming home soon? But she was there now, and it felt almost as if he was holding her once again…she couldn't give it up. Not now.

So Hayley drifted to sleep where Mikey used to lie, surrounded by the memory of him as she let herself free from reality. She was finally safe, safer than she had been in months, at the cost of one of her best friends—but at least they were both fine.

She hoped.


	14. Convince Me I've been Sick Forever

**Dear readers, I have one piece of advice for you: Go see the Woman in Black, but for the love of all things holy, do not do it alone. I'm permanently scarred by that movie even if it was amazing.**

**But that's beside the point :D thank you to all my lovely reviewers, your comments bring a smile to my face every time x3 I hope you enjoy the chapter, don't forget to tell me what you think of it at the end!**

**(oh, and shameless self promoting time! Go check out my new one-shot, it's a Frank-Amy-Gerard love triangle based of a Panic! at the Disco song. I'm sure I've got some Panic fans reading this XD)**

CHAPTER 14: LIE TO ME, CONVINCE ME I'VE BEEN SICK FOREVER

June 14, 2013

Hawthorne Towers Apartment Complex, Battery City, California

7:45 AM

"Mmm…five more minutes…" Chester groaned, snuggling closer to Amy. "We've got time…"

"Chaz, you're going to be late," his fiancée giggled. Still, she didn't make an effort to disentangle herself from his warm embrace.

"Who cares?" he murmured, leaning in to kiss her neck lightly. He nipped at the soft skin, causing Amy to gasp in surprise and pleasure. Hot breath blew across the damp spot as he whispered, "And I don't want to leave you."

"Oh God, Chester," she breathed, flipping over so that she was facing him. "Didn't you get enough last night?"

"I can never get enough of you," he replied hungrily. Amy turned her face up, seeking contact with his lips, and her arms twined around his neck, holding him to her.

"Then come here, you," she whispered seductively, licking her lips and smirking. "I'm—"

But a loud beeping from their bedside table cut her words off. Amy groaned and flipped over, hitting the off button with one outstretched arm.

"Ugh," she moaned, sitting up. "We really do have to get up, Chester."

"But…" he protested weakly. He watched as Amy stood up, the covers falling away from her pale body to reveal she still wore only the black lingerie he remembered so well from the night before.

"No buts," she murmured, placing a finger over his lips. "We've both got work, and you know it."

Chester couldn't suppress a moan as Amy turned her back and walked into the closet, her slim hips wiggling just a bit more than normal. Those black panties left nothing to the imagination, and after that almost-kiss just a few moments ago…

"Cockblocking piece of shit," he muttered at the alarm clock.

"Come on, Chaz, you've only got half an hour!" Amy shouted from the walk-in closet.

Chester groaned and stretched his arms over his head. The tattoos on his forearms rippled. "Coming, coming," he called out.

Amy emerged from the closet, fully clothed, just as he stood. Her eyes immediately flickered down to the front of his boxers. "Somebody's excited today," she giggled.

"Are you going to do anything about it?" he asked suggestively, raising an eyebrow.

"No time," she reminded him, stepping closer. She let one finger trail down his bare chest, gliding over his smooth skin and flat stomach. "Tonight," she whispered in his ear, letting her tongue flick out to touch his earlobe. Her teeth lightly clamped onto the soft skin.

"Oh my God, Amy," he moaned. His head tipped back against his will so his neck was exposed to her.

She laughed again. "Now go get ready," she commanded, placing a hand on his cotton-covered ass and pushing him towards the closet.

"Tease," he shouted. All the same, he stepped into the small room and began to pull clothes on.

"Hey, I wouldn't be talking after last night!" she called back jokingly.

Chester grinned and turned to the rack of clothes in front of him. It was mostly what he had saved from before the fire, but once every other week, he received a new item of clothing from Better Living along with his rations of food, water, batteries and other necessities. Amy got slightly smaller rations than him, as his position of construction worker was deemed more important and dangerous than hers as a secretary at the Better Living office building. But it was more than enough for the two. Their life wasn't particularly hard—in fact, it was as close to perfect as it could be.

He hummed as he pulled on the flannel shirt and ripped-up jeans he wore to work every day. The tune was familiar to both him and Amy—_Give Me Your Name, _the song he had written for her during that time spent in the basement. It had quickly become the favorite thing he had ever written. Amy loved it when he sang it to her at night, usually as they lay in bed together trying to fall asleep.

"Twenty minutes!" Amy called out as she entered the closet, grabbing her only pair of pumps and pulling them onto her feet. She rested one hand on Chester's shoulder to steady herself.

"Thank you, alarm clock," Chester responded, amused.

"Just trying to make sure we're not late," she responded cheekily, pecking him on the cheek before hopping back out of the closet, still clutching the heel of one of her shoes and shoving it onto her foot.

Chester chuckled and watched as she dashed around the room, throwing her hair into a neat bun with one hand and brushing her teeth with the other. This frantic ritual was repeated nearly every morning, because no matter how hard they tired, they never managed to get themselves out of bed on time. Amy usually blamed it on the fact that Chester was often horny when he woke up. But how could he help it? After waking up each morning next to such a sexy girl…

Said sexy girl had just run off to the kitchen, and Chester decided he had better follow her before she hurt herself. Amy was a horrible cook. She managed to burn nearly everything edible she touched, including water (How? Don't ask Chester; he honestly didn't want to know.)

"I'm just making cereal," she informed him as he walked in warily.

"Oh good." He grinned. "I don't want to have to deal with another fire so early in the morning…"

"Shut up, you." Amy stuck her tongue out.

"Careful, or I'm going to have to kiss that again…"

Chester advanced on Amy, who squealed "Chester! Stop it!" as he placed his hands on the counter on either side of her, trapping her against the surface.

"This is for not finishing what you started," he whispered huskily before dipping his head down so his forehead was pressed to hers.' Slowly, sensually, he pressed his soft lips to her own, pressing her closer to the counter. She leaned back and into the kiss. Her head tilted, exposing her throat, her lips bloomed open—

Chester pulled away and grinned. "Who's the tease now?"

Amy whimpered angrily and turned back to the cabinet, throwing an annoyed look at her fiancé. "That was completely unnecessary," she growled.

"Doesn't mean I didn't enjoy it," he winked.

After enduring a few more minutes of her boyfriend's sexual teasing as he ate, Amy hurried him out the door, blowing him a quick kiss and yelling "See you tonight! Love you!" down the hall. She watched him enter the elevator, waving as the door slid closed, and then shut the door to their own apartment, sighing. There were fifteen minutes before she had to lock the doors to their home and cross the street to where Better Living Industries headquarters, otherwise known as Kanpeki Center, loomed over their own apartments. It had been the second building to be repaired—Chester himself had helped to build it—and in an effort to further normalize their lives, Amy had applied for a secretarial job as soon as the announcements for workers wanted went out. She and thirty-nine other women had been hired to sit at desks in the office building all day, helping the Better Living executives with typing, filing, recording and whatever else menial tasks they were required to do. In return, the government took care of them, providing everything they needed to live comfortably. It was a trade-off that was definitely worth it.

Amy kicked off her pumps and lay down on their grungy couch (dragged over from the basement.) A sudden wave of queasiness had washed over her. She hoped to God she wasn't sick—Better Living was supposedly supplying health care for all their employees, but there weren't exactly a lot of medical products left in the new world. What they did have was carefully stockpiled and sold for exorbitantly high prices at the few Better Living convenience stores that had cropped up around the city. The new system ran on credits, a few of which Amy and Chester each received on their payday, and extra food, clothes, furniture and medicine were sold in the stores. Medical products were the most expensive of all the items sold—it would cost her nearly a month's worth of credits to buy a pain reliever.

Sighing, she decided she would just have to suffer through it. Skipping a day of work would cost her a day's worth of food pay, something she and Chester absolutely couldn't afford to lose. Anyway, it was just a stomachache—no big deal. She would make it. She'd already lived through the apocalypse, how much worse could this be?

With a groan, Amy raised herself from the couch, sliding her feet back into the uniform black pumps issued to her by Better Living when she was hired. They were uncomfortably high, but they at least went with the rest of her professional-looking wardrobe that she had been given.

She paced over to the door, heels clicking, and pulled it shut behind her. The key clicked in the lock. Wincing with pain, she called up the elevator and made her way out of the building and onto the partially destroyed but bustling street. It was the only part of the city that looked alive these days. Almost everything important was located within a few blocks of each other—Kanpeki Center; Hawthorne Towers, where all the employees lived; New World Plaza, the basis of the new community; and all of the buildings Chester and his fellow construction workers were in the process of repairing. Hopefully, with time, the area would once again become a fully functioning civilization.

The teenage girl waved at the doorman as she entered, smiling brightly against the pain in her stomach, and took the elevator to her office on the twentieth floor. It was the second-to-top level in the building (and as far as she knew, the top floor wasn't used) and it had the best view of the city she could ask for.

"Morning, Sharon!" she called to the other secretary on the floor.

"Good morning, Amy!" Sharon, a kind woman in her late twenties, answered back. She and Amy had become quick friends, as often it was only the two of them in the outer office area of the twentieth floor. Many of the important executives held jobs on this floor and they were more often than not in some serious meeting or other, leaving their offices mostly quiet. Sharon and Amy had always filled the silence with talk about themselves. She had learned that Sharon was newly married about a year before the disaster and she had a seven-month-old son—her family had survived by seeking shelter in her parents' wine cellar.

Amy dropped her coat over the back of her chair, pulling her Better Living-issued laptop out of her bag and booting up one of the precious few computers left in Battery City. She perched delicately in the desk chair and smiled at Sharon over the top of the cubicle. "Did you have a good weekend?"

"It was nice," she agreed, her fingers already flying over the keyboard. "How's Chester?"

"He's…" Amy sighed happily, a blissful expression spreading across her face. "He's Chester."

Sharon raised an eyebrow. "Did you do anything special?"

Well, they had, but Amy technically shouldn't tell Sharon about it. Under the new Better Living laws, it was illegal for anyone under 21 to have sex in an effort to keep the new society morally correct, but Amy and Chester _did _live together. They were _engaged, _after all, and they had protection. Chester had gone to great lengths to get contraband condoms from another man at work, who in turn had them shipped in from his cousin in New York where Better Living's laws and influence had not yet spread. They knew there were harsh consequences if the government found out, and even harsher if Amy became pregnant, but as long as they kept it secret—and neither of them planned on telling anyone, that was for sure—they would be safe.

"Nothing much," she giggled casually. "Just went to the park, and he made dinner on Saturday. He's the sweetest boy ever, you know that?"

"Ah, young love is so cute," Sharon teased. Amy simply grinned in response.

The morning passed quickly and without much incident. Amy's stomachache had subsided somewhat, leaving her hungry, but she shook it off and spent the time both productively at work and talking with her friend as she typed. At twelve-thirty, their lunch break rolled around, and Amy gladly pulled out a sandwich, setting her computer in standby mode.

"Someone's hungry today," Sharon laughed as Amy's stomach growled. The younger girl smiled cheekily.

At that moment, Sharon stuck her lunch in the small microwave along the back counter, sending the strong scent of reheating spices wafting through the air. The smell hit Amy like a battering ram and sent shockwaves to her stomach. Suddenly, the pain in her abdomen returned full force. She felt food rising in her throat.

"Shit," she gasped, and covered her mouth with one hand.

"What?" Sharon asked. But Amy was already making a frantic dash towards the bathroom, one hand on her stomach and the other clutching her mouth. She didn't even have the time to shut the door before she was leaning over the toilet, retching her guts violently into the porcelain bowl. Between heaves, she gasped for air, moving her long hair away from her face to keep it out of the vomit.

"Amy!" Sharon called from just outside the door. Her voice was shot through with worry.

The young girl gulped weakly, managing to yell out "H-hold on a min—" before another wave of nausea washed over her body, wracking it with shudders as she retched again.

After a few minutes, the heaving finally stopped coming and Amy collapsed against the tiled wall, completely exhausted, feeling disgusting and with the bitter taste of bile lingering in her mouth. Sharon tentatively pushed the door open and handed her a water bottle.

"Thanks," Amy whispered weakly, gladly downing the cool liquid.

"Do you have a fever?" the woman responded, laying a hand against her forehead. It was cool, but not abnormally so.

"Probably just a bug, then," Sharon concluded after asking a few more questions of the tired girl still slumped against the wall. "You should probably go home, Amy—I can finish your work for you."

"But my job…" the younger girl protested weakly.

"You're sick," Sharon said firmly. "You need to be at home. I can cover for you, don't worry. Just feel better, honey."

"Thanks, Shar," she smiled, hugging her lightly.

"Get better soon," the older woman responded, gathering Amy's things together quickly. Amy gratefully accepted them and hurried out of the building, waving at Sharon one last time and clutching her stomach. It felt as if the organ was doing flips inside her body. What a time to get a stomach bug…it must have been something she ate. She quickly made her way back into the apartment she had left barely four hours ago, unlocking the door and stumbling into her bedroom even as she pulled off her work clothes. Gratefully, she instead pulled on one of Chester's oversized flannel shirts and her familiar blue jeans and laid down on the couch, flipping on the television for background noise.

Her stomach made another odd noise, and Amy groaned. She was so hungry…wait, she was _hungry? _How could she be hungry? She had been puking her guts out only five minutes ago!

But the young girl was overcome with a sudden craving for food, despite her sickness. She rose from the couch, determined to find something to cure the sudden hunger, but she sat back down with a thump. A wave of pain had suddenly struck her back. She nearly screamed with the pain.

_What was happening to her?_

Amy collapsed backwards onto the couch, laying one hand on her forehead limply. Her head pulsed with every heartbeat, her back ached like it would split apart any second, she was starving and moody, and to top it all off, she felt as if she would fall asleep any second. Desperately, she ran through the few illnesses she knew the symptoms of—it could just be a severe version of the flu, right? That had to be it. It wasn't serious.

Still, she should make sure. It took all of her determination to lift herself off of the couch again, the pain in her back almost too much to bear, and walk into the bedroom. She nearly fell into the desk chair and pulled her laptop out of her work bag. It was still on standby from earlier.

_Thank God most of the internet still worked, _Amy thought as she pulled up Google. She stared at the blinking cursor for a second, not sure exactly what to search, and then typed in _nausea, headaches, fatigue. _But apparently all of the illnesses known to man had those as their symptoms. According to a variety of websites, Amy could have anything from cholera to cancer. Sighing, she typed in more, adding _cravings _and _backaches _to the list.

The laptop whirred for a moment, and the page was blank white as the information loaded. The tapping of Amy's nails on the hardwood desk was abnormally loud, ringing through the small room as she waited. Finally, the page loaded, the screen filling with black-and-blue text.

_Pregnancy. _

She stared, shocked, at the headings: _Am I Pregnant?. Early Signs of Pregnancy. Pregnancy Symptoms. Pregnancy Tips._

But that was impossible! She and Chester had used protection every single time, she'd made sure of it! The cursor shifted to the Next button as if it had a mind of its own. And it was still there: _Early Pregnancy Symptoms, _all over the page. Then, finally, _Sugar Addiction Withdrawal Symptoms._

Yes, that must be it! Overwhelmed with relief, Amy gladly clicked the page heading. She wasn't sure she had ever really been addicted to sugar, but she hadn't had any in _ages—_it was a pretty rare commodity in Battery City. She was just suffering from sugar withdrawal.

But the more she read about sugar withdrawal, the more she realized that it didn't apply to her in the slightest. It definitely didn't induce vomiting, and the headaches were only occasional and if you'd previously been addicted to something else, like caffeine.

By now, the young girl was desperate. She clicked through nearly ten pages of results, but it was all the same. _Early signs of pregnancy. _

It couldn't apply to her. It wasn't possible. It _couldn't _be possible.

But she should check, just in case…

Amy left the computer on and open as she grabbed her coat and shoes, the words _Signs of Pregnancy _still blaring at her from across the room as she rushed out of the apartment again. The only place she could think of that she could find pregnancy tests would be one of Better Living's credit stores. The stores required I.D., but she was desperate—she would figure out the age restriction once she had gotten her hands on the test.

The young girl nearly ran across the street to the credit store, various body parts protesting with every heavy footfall. Her arms encircled her stomach protectively as she dashed. The door beeped pleasantly as it swung open, glass cool against her sweaty, nervous palms. The college-aged Asian woman behind the counter smiled brightly at her.

"May I help you?" she asked sweetly.

"Erm…" Amy summoned up a smile from deep inside herself. "I'm fine, thank you." Quickly, before the cashier could ask any more probing questions of her, she moved into the medical aisle.

Better Living's scavenging crew had pulled together a motley assortment of medications in the small aisle. She passed everything from dirty bottles of painkillers to high-end, glass case-type prescription medicine. At the very far end lay the pregnancy tests, just beyond—

Just beyond the tampons and pads.

Shit. Amy stood, locked in a stare-down with the plastic-wrapped products. She'd gotten the objects as a part of her monthly supplies from work, but never thought much of it, setting them aside in a bathroom cabinet for when she'd next need them. In the hustle and time it took her to get used to a schedule in her new life, she had completely forgotten she even had a period. Consequentially, she hadn't noticed that her monthly had completely stopped.

_No. Fucking. Way._

Blindly, Amy snatched up a couple pink-and-green boxes, the bright, happy writing on the front proclaiming _Pregnancy Test _shining through the dirt and grime. She rushed back to the cashier with her head down and a black curtain of hair obscuring her young face from the world.

"Four credits," the Asian girl chirped. "Who should I charge it to?"

Shit. Shit shit shit. She couldn't charge it to herself, she was only seventeen—it would be illegal. Better Living would notice what she was buying, and they could track it back to her. She would be caught.

"A-Adrienne Nesser," Amy mumbled, naming her already-of-age half-sister. Adrienne was the only member of Amy's entire family that the girl knew to have survived. She'd seen Adrienne only once after the apocalypse, but she knew her part-sibling was trying to get a Better Living job as well.

Please, please, God, let her have gotten it already—let her have an account.

The woman keyed in a few words, pausing to confirm the spelling of 'Adrienne,' before pursing her lips and staring at the screen speculatively. She looked at Amy and checked the screen, repeating this process a few times before commenting, "There's no way you're twenty-three, dear."

Amy's face turned beet-red. "She's my—my sister," she muttered.

"And?"

"And what?" the young girl asked desperately.

"Why are you buying a pregnancy test under her name?"

"Er, well, you see…" she stumbled. "I'm—um—Adie's very shy. She's, um, not married, and she doesn't want to get a reputation, you see. She was too—too embarrassed. I told her I'd get one for her. She's—please, she's very scared. She needs to know. This could change her life."

Something about those last few words must have rung true with the cashier. Maybe it was the absolute truth Amy had unwittingly injected into them as she drew on her own feelings, but either way, she flashed the younger girl a sympathetic smile. "I'll let it go, then—but just the once," she cautioned.

Amy's worried expression broke into a massive, grateful smile. "Thank you so much," she breathed.

"Of course." The woman handed her the crinkly plastic bag with a conspiratorial grin. "And dear—" she called out as Amy pushed open the door to exit. The girl turned to look back.

"Tell Adrienne good luck from me," she winked.

Amy smiled weakly and gulped. She had a sneaking suspicion that 'Adrienne' would need all the luck she could get.

The boxes were out of the bag and the cardboard was ripped apart violently the second Amy was back through the door in her apartment. The object inside was a small and unassuming plastic stick, pink at one end and with faint pictures of a plus and a minus sign. It didn't look like it was capable of determining the fate of her life so completely.

The young girl noticed through her haze of fear that her hands were trembling violently. The box was shaking in her clutch, and the words blurred so much that she couldn't read the instructions. She took a deep breath, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. Her thoughts raced a mile a minute still, but she managed to collapse into one of the kitchen chairs and set the instructions on the table so she could read them properly.

_1. Wash hands with water and soap._

Alright, easy enough. Amy got up again, making her way to the small bathroom and doing as the box said. She leaned against the counter as she read more.

_2. Remove the testing device from its wrapper._

The plastic crinkled as she tore through the cellophane. It was almost deafening to her oversensitive ears in the deathly silent bathroom.

_3. Sit down on the toilet._

She collapsed gratefully onto the seat, her hands wrapped into tight fists of fear.

_4. Urinate on test._

Lovely. Still trying to calm her racing nerves, Amy followed the instructions.

_5. Place test on flat, dry surface with result window facing up._

The small object determining her fate was put on the bathroom counter.

_6. Wait five minutes for results to appear._

_**Wait?**_

That was the worst possible thing to come next! How could she wait for five whole minutes while her fate was determined before her eyes? The trembling returned tenfold, and Amy slid down the wall, her legs finally giving out. Her arms wrapped around her stomach involuntarily.

_She would not cry._

At least, not yet.

Those five minutes were the most agonizing ones that the young girl had ever lived through. Her mind kept going over all of the symptoms and reasons she could be with child, and as hard as she tried to convince herself that she was starting to freak out over nothing, with every passing minute, she further convinced herself it was true.

And then the five minutes was finally up.

_7. Check results. A blue negative sign indicates not pregnant, and a pink positive sign indicates pregnancy._

_Blue negative sign, _Amy thought. _Blue negative sign. Not pregnant. Please, please, not pregnant._

Her hand didn't look like her own as it reached up above her head, feeling around for the stick. She shut her eyes tightly as she found it, her hand clasping around it.

_On the count of three, I'll look._

_Three…two…one…_

There was a faint pink plus sign on the pink.

"No," she breathed. "_NO!"_

It wasn't possible. _It wasn't possible. _This was not happening to her.

But when she repeated the test with the other box, it came up positive, too. And the signs were there. She threw up again, but this time from nerves and not what she now knew to be morning sickness. All of the last dregs of energy were drained from her tired, pregnant body by this last bout of sickness, and she collapsed onto the couch with a bowl for any more vomit beside her. It was three-thirty—Chester would be home soon.

_Shit._

At exactly four thirty-eight, a key clicked in the open door, then clicked again as he re-unlocked it. Chester's footsteps echoed through the empty foyer.

"Amy?" he called out tentatively. There was a faint note of confusion in his voice. She wasn't usually home until five at the earliest, so the deviation in schedule was unusual.

"In here," Amy called out weakly from the couch.

Without bothering to take off his shoes, Chester made his way through the tiny apartment to his sick fiancée. He knelt beside her, taking in her tired, haggard expression and the sick bowl next to the couch.

"Are you sick, honey?" he murmured, laying a hand on her forehead sympathetically.

"Um…sort of," she answered quietly.

Now was the time to tell him. She had to; she couldn't put it off any longer…

But Amy was too scared. She didn't know all the specifics of Better Living's anti-teen pregnancy laws, but she knew enough to realize how serious the consequences for both of them would be if they were caught.

"Sort of?" Chester's brow creased. He looked at Amy from under furrowed eyebrows, confused.

_Tell him. Now._

But he could leave her for this…

"You can tell me everything, Amy," Chester whispered, stroking one hand through her long, tangled black hair calmingly. "We're best friends, remember? You can trust me with anything."

"I'm—Chester, I'm pregnant," she blurted out.

He reeled back, his hand dropping from her hair instantly. A look of shock spread across his face. _This is it, _Amy thought. _He's leaving. He's breaking up with me for being a stupid girl._

But that shock wasn't replaced with horror and anger, as she had been so sure it would be. Instead, Chester looked up at her with eyes full of love and acceptance. He clasped her hands in his own.

"Amy, that's amazing," he exclaimed.

Amy shook her head and sat up, sure she had misheard him. "You—you're not breaking up with me?" she questioned, amazed.

Chester laughed. He actually _laughed, _still watching her with that unconditional, bare love filling his eyes. "Leave you? Never! Haven't you heard a word I said these past few months, Amy? I love you, and only you, and I love you forever. A baby won't change that. And anyway…" he squeezed her hands tightly. "It's not just yours. It's _ours._"

The young girl felt her eyes begin to fill with tears. She looked down at Chester, still disbelieving. He didn't break his gaze on her.

"You're its' mother, but I'm its' father, too," he whispered. "Half you and half me. _Ours. _And Ames, I know you'll make a wonderful mom."

Through her tears, Amy's smile was radiant. Chester reached up to wipe one away softly with his thumb.

"Can I do one thing?" he asked.

"Whatever you want," she answered. "I trust you."

With gentle hands, Chester pulled Amy's shirt up, exposing her pale stomach. She wasn't sure how she hadn't noticed the slight bulge that was already growing there, but it was certain that there was _something _living in there now. Her boyfriend moved forward slightly until he kneeled between Amy's parted legs. His ear pressed against her cool skin.

"Hey there, baby," he whispered. "It's your daddy."

And then a wonderful, beautiful, miraculous thing happened.

The baby kicked.

A massive smile split both Chester and Amy's faces simultaneously, and they both looked up from her stomach into each others' eyes.

"Amy, that's our baby," Chester whispered as if realizing it for the first time.

"Yes, Chaz, it is," she giggled.

"Our baby. Yours and mine."

"M-hm," she murmured. Her hands cradled her stomach protectively.

"We're going to be a family. A real family."

"You, me, and our baby," she responded.

"And there's not one person in the world I'd rather have a family with," he whispered huskily. His hands covered hers on her stomach as she leant in to press a long, sweet kiss to his lips.

And as they met, the baby kicked a second time as if in approval.


	15. Sing to Me about the End of the World

**Guess what, guys? Sing broke 200 handwritten pages this week! \o/ Jesus, I never imagined it would get this long! But as long as you keep reading and reviewing, I'll keep writing and posting ;D**

**Enjoy the chapter! Credit for all song lyrics go to the fabulous Linkin Park, although I wished I could write lyrics like them. Don't forget to R&R on your way out!**

CHAPTER 15: SING TO ME ABOUT THE END OF THE WORLD

July 27, 2013

The Outskirts of Battery City, California

6:39 PM

"Terry, how far away did you say the city was?"

"I didn't say."

"Well then, how far away is it?"

"About five miles…"

Lacey stopped walking, aghast. "That does _not _qualify as 'walking distance'!"

Terry frowned. "I've walked it before…"

"Are you superhuman, then?" the girl asked.

"Nah, I'm just not a spoiled, sheltered rich girl," he smirked.

Lacey groaned. "Touché."

"Hey, it _is _your concert we're going to see," Terry reminded her. "And for the record, I don't really think that you're a spoiled, sheltered rich girl."

"Well, at least not anymore," she amended.

"Not anymore."

Lacey knew her old, pre-apocalyptic self never would have walked five miles to go see a concert in a run-down club, but living such a simple life with Terry had made her begin to appreciate the smaller things in life. It also made her miss rock music a whole fucking lot. She and a couple of her more, er, city friends used to go to gigs at Spaceland Rock Club every Friday night, and she'd seen many a good band there over the couple years she had gone. Her favorite was the ever-popular house band Xero, who, with a bit of luck, she and Terry would be going to see again that very night. The alt music station was good for something, after all. They'd not only continued blasting loud rock far after BL/ind had taken over the airwaves, but had also interviewed the members of Xero, played their demo tracks, and kept their listeners informed of the fact that the band was still alive after a long, fire-induced hiatus and would be playing at the old Spaceland Rock Club. The DJ had warned that the entire sound system had been destroyed, there were no seats or drinks, and the venue was 'sort of open air and not exactly all there.'

But frankly, Lacey didn't give a damn. It was _live music _for the first time in seven months. She was going to take whatever she could get, and she sure as hell wasn't going to complain about it.

"I look like I'm dressed to go to a Nirvana concert, not a Xero one," she giggled. As she usually did, the young girl wore the pair of jeans she had found (she couldn't consider it stealing, the store was technically empty) a few days after the apocalypse and one of Terry's oversized, button-up flannel shirts. In fact, all of her possessions besides the jeans and the saltwater-stained white nightgown and Doc Marten boots she had nearly drowned in had once belonged to Terry. She wore the jeans and Doc Martens every day. In contrast, the nightgown was usually tucked away in a far corner of the dresser drawer her guardian had allotted her. She didn't touch it in an effort to erase all her memories of that terrible night. It still occasionally gave her nightmares—gray, choking waves encompassing her world, cutting off the view of the ship as it burned and drowning the screams of dying people. Those same screams would ring in her ears long after she woke up, sometimes shrieking herself. Poor Terry had to put up with the constant screams in the night. He really was too good to her. If the situation was reversed, Lacey wasn't sure she could have dealt with it for that long without kicking herself out.

"Nobody's going to care what either of us looks like," Terry reminded her wisely. "I'm pretty sure everyone in the fucking city looks like a homeless person right now."

"That's cause most of them are," she answered, skipping ahead slightly. She flung her arms out to either side of her, raising them until they were parallel to the sky, and skipping in a small circle. The girl was too full of energy and excitement for the concert—she felt the need to release it somehow.

"Slow down, Lace," laughed Terry, who continued a few feet behind her at his plodding pace. "Didn't you say Xero wasn't going to be on until eight?"

The young girl nodded seriously. "But Terrrryyy, I'm excited!" she called out.

"I know you are," he chuckled. "That's all you've been saying all day."

Lacey grinned widely at her father figure, still skipping but backwards now. "Thanks for taking me, Ter."

"Anytime," he smiled.

To the young girl's relief, five miles wasn't nearly as long as it sounded. They walked the distance in under two hours, arriving at the club almost exactly at eight. It certainly didn't look on the outside as if there was a rock concert being hosted there that night, but then, there was nothing in the city that looked normal these days. With an excited grin, Lacey pushed open the door to the club.

Well, she could see what they meant on the radio by 'open-air venue.'

There was no roof or any kind of furniture left. The area in front of what had been the stage—now a roped-off pile of charred sticks that had been hastily patched into a makeshift performance area—was filled with maybe two hundred of Battery City's finest: every single one of the punks, Goths, emos, ravers, stoners, skaters, and any other type of general misfit left in the region was gathered there.

Lacey was finally back where she belonged.

"Terry!" she squealed. "Look, look!"

"Do you always get this hyper at concerts?" he laughed. "Look, Lace, I'll be back here. You go have fun."

"Are you sure?" she asked, suddenly uneasy.

"Mosh pits aren't really my thing," the older, dreadlocked man explained. "But you go on."

She nodded seriously. "I'll find you when it's over."

"I'll be right here waiting," he promised. He watched, amused, as the young girl practically bounced off and was soon enveloped by the crowd. She looked perfectly at home. He inherently understood that this was her environment, the loud music and tight-packed crowd. The club didn't look completely club-ish at the time—he suspected that the lack of a ceiling and the light pouring in had something to do with it—but all the same, she was finally back in her element. Whatever made her happy would make him happy, too.

Lacey, meanwhile, was fitting straight in with the crowd. She even recognized a couple of the regulars from the nights she'd spent there so long ago. The roar of the crowd and the crushing atmosphere was something she had desperately missed, even if she didn't realize it till now. She knew the crazy amped-up feeling would increase tenfold once the band actually took to the stage, and she positively could not wait.

The club went dark suddenly, each light completely extinguished so that the only light was the fading rays pouring in through the place where the ceiling should have been. Lacey let out a loud cheer as the crowd's excitement ramped off the scale.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a disembodied voice echoed through the ceiling-less club. The crowd roared. "For the first time in six months, finally returning to Spaceland Rock Club…please put your hands together for _XERO!_"

A loud guitar chord pierced the air as a curly-haired man stepped on stage, followed by a redhead and a brunette. Two Asian men brought up the rear, one stopping behind a pair of turntables and the other going all the way up to the front of the stage and grabbing the microphone. He swung his red guitar around to hold it in both hands and smirked at the ravenous crowd.

"Hello, Battery City!" he screamed into the dead mic. But it didn't matter that the amplifier didn't work properly, because his voice rang out over the shouts as clear as day.

The band launched straight into a familiar hit of theirs as the Asian man yelled "Forfeit the game before somebody else takes you out of the game and puts your name to shame!"

The crowd shouted back "Cover up your face, you can't run the race, the pace is too fast, you just won't last!" Lacey screamed the words along with them, pleasantly surprised to realize she had managed to remember them from so long ago.

"That's right!" the man roared into the microphone. The crowd's energy went off the charts as they jumped and fist-pumped to the drummer's heavy-handed beat. The young girl felt herself buffeted on all sides by the throng of moving people, but she loved every second of it. Pain and discomfort was nothing compared to the sensation of being back in a room filled with good music, and moshing was all part of the experience.

Xero finished up their first song quickly and launched straight into the next without a break, the drummer a flailing mass of arms and the guitarist's and bassist's fingers flying over the fret boards so fast that they blurred and the DJ's expression of fierce concentration as he spun and mixed discs nearly painful-looking. The attractive singer threw his heart into every word, snarling and shouting and melodizing as the song called for. But as they played, each band member wore an impossibly huge smile on their face, as if they were enjoying their performance every bit as much as the crowd did.

"You feeling alright out there?" the singer roared after their second song. Judging by the crowd's reactions—a mix of cheers, whistles, hoots and a yell of 'Marry me, Mike!'—they agreed with this statement.

"Cause I'm feeling fucking great!" he continued. "You don't know how good it feels to finally be back!" The drummer backed up his words with a cymbal crash.

"This next one's called _With You," _Mike informed the crowd as the Asian DJ began to scratch a funky beat on the turntable. Lacey recognized this one instantly, too—another old favorite.

The songs began to meld together into one frenetic blur of music and movement interspersed with Mike's short banter with the crowd in between. He introduced the rest of the band, too, and even briefly explained how they'd come back to Battery City before continuing, "And let me tell you, we're not very fucking impressed with Better Living Industries!"

Lacey screamed her approval at the statement. Maybe the world wasn't as blind as she'd initially thought!

"I don't know about you, but I sure as hell don't trust them!" Mike yelled. "And I wrote this song for our lovely new government and, well, the guys think it's pretty good. This is _No More Sorrow!_"

The guitarist launched into an echoing, haunting riff, and the drummer pounded a beat a few seconds later. Mike held his hands over his head, clapping in time to the beat and signaling to the crowd to do so too.

"Let me see those hands!" he screamed as the entire band came in with a heavy sounding riff. After nearly a minute of angry introduction, he growled into the microphone, "Are you lost in your lies? Do you tell yourself I don't realize your crusade's a disguise?"

_These lyrics!_ Lacey thought. They were vivid and angry and purely anti-BL/ind—and the crowd loved it. Xero must really, really despise the government to write something like that, she mused as Mike spit out "No, no more sorrow!"

The crowd shrieked in approval of the message as a catchy, furious chorus blasted through the air. It repeated, and Mike began to chant "Thieves and hypocrites!" over and over. The fans soon caught on, echoing him. They began to clap again at his command.

"If you hate BL/ind, sing this with me!" he screamed, before launching into "No, no more sorrow, I've paid for your mistakes!"

Lacey screamed the lyrics as best she could at the top of her lungs, jumping up and down on the beat with the crowd. The powerful lyrics blasted through the club, nearly knocking her off her feet with the strong, angry reverberations.

And then, as the song ended with one prolonged, heavy scream on behalf of the Asian rapper, she really did feel the ground fall out from under her feet.

"Shit!" she gasped, feeling herself tumble to her right side as the person on her left crashed into her, knocking her aside. She waited for the impact of the hard floor or at least falling into another angry fan, but instead, a hand reached out and steadied her before she could topple completely.

"You okay?" she heard someone ask and she found herself looking into a pair of concerned hazel-brown eyes. He watched her, concerned and confused, to see why she didn't answer. "Are you hurt?"

But Lacey had clammed up out of shock and excitement, because she r_ecognized _that face.

"I know you," she said slowly.

"Er—really?" he asked, still confused. "Did we go to school together? You're not Laura, are you? Cause fuck, have you changed…" He glanced behind him at what she guessed was a friend, but the other was half-hidden by the crowd.

She shook her head. "I just recognize—Hawthorne Towers—protest—you were on TV…"

"Oh, right!" He smirked. "You remembered me?"

"It's not every day you see someone in this city with the same views as you in terms of the shitty government."

The boy behind the one she recognized suddenly glanced around to look at her when she mentioned that. He assessed her curiously. "You don't like BL/ind?"

"I _hate _them," she clarified. "Never trusted them before, but now it's just out of hand…"

He grinned deviously. _Damn, but he's attractive, _Lacey thought, unable to control her mental impulses as she smiled back.

"Gerard Way," he said, sticking out his hand. "Killjoy."

"Lacey Mosley," she answered. She took his hand. It was warm and calloused, and his grip was comfortable but strong. It sent shivers flying up her arm. "What's a Killjoy?"

"We're rebels," he smirked.

Lacey was intrigued, and she knew he knew it. "Continue," she said, looking up at him.

He shook his head. "I can't, not too much and not here. It's dangerous for us. But—"

But Gerard's words were cut off by Mike yelling, "All right guys, we're gonna slow it down a bit. Feel free to dance."

The Asian made his way over to a keyboard, playing a quiet, beautiful riff as discs scratched. Around Lacey and Gerard (the shorter boy, the one from the TV, had wandered off) couples began to dance, swaying to the beat.

"Is that really what he meant by 'dance?'" Lacey muttered as he began to sing: "This is my December, this is my time of the year…"

"I'm betting no," Gerard laughed. Lacey found herself giggling along with him. There was something about his personality…he was charismatic, exciting, electrifying. A born leader.

"Dance with me, Lacey," he offered spontaneously.

"If I do, will you tell me more about these Killjoys?" she teased.

He threw his head back and laughed, a full, beautiful sound. "Maybe I will."

She rolled her eyes at the ambiguous statement. "Are you always this obnoxious?" she asked.

"I've heard it's attractive," he winked.

"Well, Gerard," she stated, slipping her arms around his shoulders. "It's really not."

"But you're still dancing with me," he smirked. His strong hands landed on either side of her waist.

"Don't push it," Lacey warned. "Now tell me about these Killjoys."

Gerard's face lit up in genuine excitement at the mention. "I can't give too many details here for security purposes—technically, I'm supposed to check if you're a BL/ind agent first…"

"Do I _look _like a BL/ind agent?" she asked rhetorically as they began to sway.

"Which is why I think it'll be fine to tell you some of it," he explained. In the background, the band continued with the somber song.

Gerard threw a cautionary glance around the club before leaning closer so that his forehead almost touched Lacey's. He lowered his voice to a murmur before beginning.

"The Killjoys are a band of anti-Better Living Industries rebels who live in the Mojave Desert. Frank and I—" he jerked his thumb towards the other boy Lacey had met, who was standing against a side wall, watching them—"joined up a month ago with a couple of our other friends. There are seven of us, and we go by code names—I can't tell you mine, but it doesn't really matter. We run a radio station, frequency 104.1 FM, and we broadcast reports every eight hours during the day. And we're recruiting. That's why I'm here."

Lacey shook her head, trying to digest all the new information. "Rebels. In the _desert._"

"Yeah, it was hard for me to take in at first, too," he laughed. "But that's basically it."

"And you're recruiting."

"Hopefully, yes."

"And that's why you're telling me all this? You want me to join up?"

Gerard smiled down at her, warm brown eyes sparkling. "Well, if you don't like BL/ind…"

She let out a breath of air heavily. He was persuasive, sure, and she hated the government with all of her heart. But she wasn't going to give up her safety for something she knew nothing about.

"Not yet," she told Gerard, and waited to gauge his reaction. He didn't look disappointed or disturbed at all. In fact, it seemed like he'd been hoping for that answer.

"I didn't expect you to join up straight away," he told her. "That would've been stupid of you. But do you have a radio?"

She nodded her assent, even as she realized the song was ending. Gerard still didn't remove his hands from her waist.

"Good. Then do me a favor when you get home, Lacey. Check station 104.1 tomorrow at twelve. Just listen. See if you agree. And even if I never see you again, even if you never hear another word about the Killjoys…" His grip tightened on her waist, but not uncomfortably so. The smile dropped off his face and he stared at her seriously.

"Never forget BL/ind is evil," he told her. "Never stop protesting. Don't fall under their spell. Promise?"

"Promise," she breathed.

He released her abruptly, leaving two warm, tingling spots on either side of her torso. "It was great meeting ya," he said.

"You too, Gerard," she smiled. "Maybe I'll see you around."

"Maybe you will," he answered cryptically. "Take care of yourself, Lacey."

As Xero launched into what they announced would be their last song of the night, Lacey watched Gerard's figure recede into the crowd, where it was slowly enveloped by moving bodies. He turned to look back at her once before he disappeared from sight.

_Killjoys._

"Station 104.1," she whispered to herself, determined to remember the number. Twelve o'clock tomorrow, and she'd check on Gerard and his friends—and hopefully find out more about their secretive organization.

Yet somehow, she could shake the suspicion that it was something stronger than curiosity driving her to think of the black-haired Killjoy.


	16. Even Though I Tried, It All Fell Apart

**Hello everyone :D thank you so much for all the lovely and amazing reviews. I just thought I'd take time to thank all those amazing anonymous readers, lpwriter4life in particular, who I can't respond personally to but appreciate every bit as much as my signed reviewers x3 I love you all, thank you for reading.**

**/sappy rant over**

**This used to be two chapters. I combined them into this by cutting most of the first chap. I'm thinking of creating a Tumblr or some other blog for this story, where I can post cut scenes, outtakes, raygun/jacket designs, art, etc., but I'm not sure. Would you guys want to see something like that? Tell me in a review!**

**And now you can actually have the chapter xD**

CHAPTER 16: EVEN THOUGH I TRIED, IT ALL FELL APART

July 27, 2013

Spaceland Rock Club, Battery City, California

9:55 PM

"That was incredible," Brad gasped, wiping his brow with his arm as Mike came backstage.

"Wild," Joe agreed. "Did you hear that crowd?"

"Loudest one I've ever heard," Rob piped up.

Mike drained his water bottle in two gulps, carefully placing his guitar back in its' case and sitting down. He felt as if all of the energy had suddenly leached out of his body. The performance, although amazing and the best thing he'd done in seven months, was more physically taxing than he had remembered.

"You okay, Mike?" Rob called out, turning to his best friend.

The Asian emcee grinned brilliantly. "Much better than okay."

"Amen to that!" Phoenix laughed.

It took a while for the club to completely empty out, many of the fans waiting long after the show to talk to the band. Mike, Rob and Joe went out a bit after Phoenix and Brad to thank them, but around eleven-thirty, even Brendon and Spencer in the far back of the club had packed up the radio gear and left after wishing the band a good night.

"It feels so good to be back," Mike murmured to Rob as they pulled the five sleeping bags out of the van and into the middle of the club's floor. It was where they slept every night, as it was the largest part of the remaining structure.

"Tell me about it," Rob grinned. "I've been dreaming about that for what seems like forever."

"Well, we're back permanently now," the Asian reminded him.

The drummer sighed happily. "That sounds perfect."

It took all five men ages to fall asleep that night—they were too hyped up and excited to calm their racing nerves enough to let themselves slip into oblivion. Instead, for a couple hours afterwards they would lay in the near-darkness and whisper about now amazingly the show had gone or plans to make it even better the next time. Whenever they neared sleep, one of them would whisper-shout either something they'd forgotten to comment on before or some randomly amusing phrase that would send the set of musicians into convulsory fits of laughter.

Finally, Brad dropped off first, his soft snores gradually taking the place of his voice. Joe and Phoenix soon followed the guitarist, until only Rob and Mike lay awake.

"We should probably sleep, too," murmured Rob. "I don't know about you but I'm fucking excited."

"Same," the emcee yawned. All the same, he doubted he would be able to sleep any time soon—the night's events kept replaying on an endless loop through his mind, making him too keyed-up for his mind to calm down.

"Tonight was the best night of my life, I think," Rob continued after a small pause.

Mike nodded into the darkness. "I know what you mean. There's just no better feeling than doing something you love…"

"With people you love," his best friend added.

There was another moment of silence in which Rob yawned conspicuously and Mike concentrated on his pattern of breathing, before the drummer whispered, "Love you, Mike."

"Love you too, Rob."

"Night."

"Night."

Mike knew instinctively the moment when Rob, too, succumbed to sleep, because his breathing slowed and steadied and the emcee was left with a sudden feeling of being alone. He laid his head on his hands and stared up into the sky, willing his eyes not to close.

The stars seemed particularly beautiful tonight. Mike knew there was a scientific reason for it, because he'd heard BL/ind preaching about it: because of the lack of energy usage and production factories in the new world, the atmosphere was being given a chance to clear, causing the stars to seem both closer and brighter. But the young man imagined a more romantic theory—maybe the stars were only brightening to reflect his mood, how at-peace with the universe he was feeling right now. It just seemed perfect at the moment.

He stared at the stars a whole longer, thinking. Maybe he had finally found his place in the new world: here, playing music and spreading his message. It almost seemed too easy. But if they could go on living off the food stored in their van and living in the club, then maybe, _just maybe _it would work out as he hoped.

Xero had reclaimed their place in the city.

With these thoughts weaving their way through his mind, Mike finally found enough peace to sleep, gratefully allowing himself to slip into unconsciousness. It was a vivid sleep, full of colorful dreams about the concert and their journey to this point. It was long, too—because of the late hour he fell asleep, Mike didn't wake nearly as early as he usually did. Instead, Rob was the first one up.

The drummer looked around blearily, registering the continued slumber of the rest of his companions. He wasn't usually up this early, but he had startled awake for some unknown reason. The only thing he was sure about was that he had an odd sensation that something wasn't right in the city and in their lives.

But that was crazy! If anything, their lives were as close to perfect as they could be in this situation. There was no reason for the young brunette musician to worry.

Rob tiptoed to the radio, turning the volume down before flipping on station 103.5. Brendon and Spencer had promised last night that they'd be playing segments of the concert over the next few weeks as a promotion for the band and future concerts, and with any luck, maybe he'd be able to catch the radio premiere of their music.

But Brendon, Spencer and their music, which had always been a constant presence on the BL/ind-dominated airwaves, weren't there that morning.

Rob twisted the dial, checking all the frequencies near it. But all he could find was static. It had never been that way before—Brendon and Spencer had always been there. _Always._

Now he was sure something was wrong. His anxiety heightened, and he flipped more rapidly between the stations, sure there was something he must have missed, There had to be a logical explanation, he was just overreacting…Mike would know what was wrong! Mike always knew everything about these types of problems…

"Mike," Rob whisper-called, carefully making his way over to his best friend who still lay inert in his blue sleeping bag. "Mike!"

The Asian still didn't stir, so Rob grabbed his shoulder roughly and shook. "Mike Shinoda, wake up!"

"Wha—where's the fire?" Mike muttered sleepily.

"No fire," he promised. "But the radio…"

"Whatever's wrong with the radio, I'm sure I can fix it when I wake up," the emcee yawned, turning over and burying his head under his pillow. "Just a few more minutes…"

But he was startled into attentiveness again by a heavy banging on the door of the club.

Rob shot Mike a desperate glance, silently asking what to do with his eyes. Tentatively, the Asian man called out, "Who's there?" in a quavering voice.

"We are representatives of Better Living Industries," a deep, monotone voice responded. "If this is the residence of the musical group known as Xero, open the door on command of the law."

"Shit," Mike muttered, jolting upright in his sleeping bag. Around him and Rob, the rest of the band began to stir, awakened by the sudden noise.

"Rob—with me," the emcee said tersely, assuming the role of leader as he often did in crisis situations. "Joe, Brad, Phi, get the fuck up and put the instruments in the van _now_."

"What's happening?" Rob asked, worried, as Mike rose from the sleeping bag and walked towards the front door slowly, a look of intense thought and concentration on his face.

"I don't know," the other man replied shortly, "but it sure as hell can't be good."

He ran a hand through his short black hair quickly before adopting a sleepy, innocent expression. Rob quickly mimicked him as he opened the door. It creaked open to reveal a trio of white-suited police agents.

"Hello?" Mike yawned, rubbing one eye for effect. He made sure to cover as much of the doorway as he could with his body, trying not to let the policemen see the activity inside the club. Rob caught his drift and stood to his left to block more of the view.

"Mr. Michael Shinoda?" the one in front asked with no inflection in his voice.

"Yeah, that's me," Mike yawned. "What is it?"

"We have come to arrest you and the rest of your musical group for infractions of the Better Living Industries Law, section 1, paragraph 1 part C: Any persons who publicly contradict the government or undermine its authority or aid in the contradiction of Better Living Industries are subject to up to thirty years in confinement," the agent droned. "Any tools that have aided in the making of such illegal statements will be promptly confiscated and destroyed."

The words flew straight over Rob's head, too complicated and full of legal jargon for the drummer to comprehend, but they must have made sense to Mike because he gasped loudly. A look both angry and fearful spread across his face.

"Do you accept or deny these charges?" the policeman continued.

Mike didn't answer the question. Instead, he spat "You're crazy if you think you can take the instruments!"

"Mr. Shinoda, do you accept these charges and the following consequences?" the policeman's voice rose.

"No, I do not fucking accept them!" the visibly angry emcee nearly shouted.

"Then please stand aside so we can conduct a mandatory search of your—" the policeman's lip curled into a sneer at the next word—"_residence._"

Mike, however, didn't budge an inch. "No," he said defiantly.

"Stand aside, Mr. Shinoda."

"I'm not going to!"

Rob chanced a quick glance behind him. Brad was rushing out of the side entrance to the club, Phoenix's bass in one hand and his guitar in the other. Joe and Phoenix had already trundled half of the drum kit outside, but the other half of it, the turntables, the amps and Mike's guitar still lay unprotected in the middle of the floor.

"We need more time," he hissed to Mike. He bobbed his head down slightly in affirmation.

"We do not want to use violence," the agent said, his malicious grin contradicting his words. "But we will if we are required to."

Mike emitted a low sound that was halfway between a growl and a curse word. He refused to move, still blocking the doorway with his body as best he could.

"We will give you one last warning. Stand aside, Mr. Shinoda."

"No," Mike growled.

The policemen reached for their gun holsters in sync, hands latching onto the white handles of their guns and whipping them out. The speaker trained his gun on Mike's temple.

"Mr. Shinoda, every second you continue to defy us will raise your potential sentence," the policeman droned.

"That is a chance I'm willing to take," the emcee answered.

Rob bit his lip in fear. "Mike, don't be stupid," he murmured. Behind him, he heard a loud curse and the rattle of the bass drum as it rolled across the concrete floor.

"Are all the instruments out?" Mike whispered.

"Not yet, but still—"

"Mr. Shinoda!" the policeman yelled, releasing the safety on the gun.

"I'm not moving, you motherfucker!" Mike roared.

He didn't register what the agent's quick movement meant until he felt the white-hot sting in his arm, searing his flesh. He clutched his arm, wincing and fighting against crying out.

"Mike!" Rob yelled in fear. He reached out for his best friend even as the Asian stumbled against the door frame. He hadn't heard the gunshot or seen the bullet, but he'd definitely seen the policeman pull the trigger, and judging by Mike's reaction…

"No, Rob! Block them!" Mike gasped. But it was too late—the three policemen were pushing past the pair, shoving their way into the club. Joe, Brad and Phoenix paused, doe-eyed and stuck in the spotlight.

The lead policeman cocked his head to the side, grinning evilly. "What do we have here?"

"Don't touch them," Mike gasped out, his left hand still wrapped around his right arm protectively.

The police ignored his desperate request, stalking over to the middle of the club where the amplifiers, parts of the drum kit and a cherry-red Paul Reed Smith electric guitar lay, completely exposed.

"We must confiscate these on behalf of the government," he informed the band.

"No you will fucking not!" spat the emcee, rushing over to his guitar. Two of the policemen raised their guns again, but he had thrown himself down next to the instrument, clutching at it.

"Release the guitar, Mr. Shinoda," the policeman ordered.

But Brad stepped forward, flanked by Joe and Phoenix, to stand in front of Mike so that the Asian man was hidden behind a shield formed by his friends. "We'll protect these instruments with our lives," the guitarist growled. Phoenix, meanwhile, was desperately signaling to Rob with his eyes. His sight kept flickering from the drummer to the pile of musical equipment and back again. Rob understood the message clearly: _When I signal, grab whatever you can and run._

"Bradford Delson, your resistance is futile," the BL/ind agent intoned. "If you do not cease your protest immediately, you and your comrades will be eradicated."

"Does it look like I give a shit?" Brad yelled. His hands curled into fists, quivering as if they were itching to hit the smug, expressionless man.

The policemen's only reaction was to re-aim their guns at the trio of men.

"Move!" Phoenix yelled, and dived backwards. The action set off a chain of events almost too fast for any human to follow. Mike jumped up, shielding his guitar with his body, and rushed for the side exit as shots flew from the BL/ind policemen's guns. Rob and Phoenix dragged one amp and a snare between them, making too-slow progress towards the door as one of the agents raced them to the exit. Brad and Joe, meanwhile, had literally tackled the other two to the ground, guns knocked from their hands.

"Hurry!" Mike screamed, holding the door open with his good arm.

"We are!" Phoenix huffed. "Brad, Joe, get the other amp and get the fuck out!"

"But my drums!" Rob wailed. The entire conversation was dominated by the high-pitched keen of the agent's gun as it fired shot after shot at the men.

Phoenix and Rob made it through the open door first. Brad and Joe trailed, half-fighting off the last agent while shoving away at the last amplifier. Two of the drums and the cymbal from Rob's kit still remained in the club.

"Mike, get my drums!" Rob begged as shoved the first amp into the van. "We can hold the agent off, just get them quickly!"

The Asian man knew it would be crazy and dangerous to go back into the club, but he couldn't ignore the keening, desperate note in Rob's voice. He knew what it was like to be in that situation—to almost have your life, your music, taken away. He couldn't let the drummer suffer like that.

"Hold on!" Mike shouted to the rest of Xero and darted back into the half-collapsed building. The two policemen on the ground were struggling to their feet, searching for their guns, but they weren't up yet. That gave Mike just enough time to stack the two drumheads and the cymbal and, protesting the searing pain in his right arm, limp over to the door with the percussion tools.

"Going somewhere?" The voice chilled him to the bone.

Mike looked up slowly. His brown eyes met the cold, menacing ones of the policeman, who grinned sinisterly.

With hardly a thought, he threw his shoulder against the lean body, shoving the older man through the doorway. He estimated he could dash to the van and hopefully Rob would drive off before the agent could catch him.

He hadn't factored in his guitar.

The cherry-red instrument still lay where he'd left it next to the doorway, waiting for him to reclaim it. He was the only band member not yet safe in the van, so there was no one to help him.

Desperately, he scrambled to his knees, grasping for it, but the policeman's foot came down with a resounding, heartbreaking _crack _before he could reach it.

At first, Mike's mind didn't understand the noise. He couldn't connect it back to his instrument, his partner in music, the object he loved more than anything. The agent _hadn't _stepped on his guitar, _hadn't _broken it in two, _hadn't _snapped the neck from the body—

But there it laid, the only thing holding the two pieces together those six strings he was so accustomed to.

The emcee didn't allow himself to feel rage until he had snatched up the broken halves of his guitar into his arms and frantically rushed into the back of the van, depositing the pieces of the drum kit into the back. But as Rob spun the van out of the side alley, making a wild dash away from the club, he looked down into his lap where it lay.

The neck had snapped off cleanly, a definite divide between the two parts of the instrument visible. It flopped limply over the edge of his knee as he sat. The red paint on the body was scratched and marred with dirt from the scuffle.

It was completely unplayable.

Some part of his brain acknowledged Rob asking in a shaky voice "Is everyone okay?"

"Got shot in the thigh," Brad replied tersely. "But whatever that thing was, it wasn't a regular bullet."

"It was more like a laser or something," Joe agreed. "And it feels like a fucking burn—I only got grazed by one on my stomach, but I swear to God it's burning or something."

"Mike?" Rob called out. "You got shot in the arm, didn't you? How are you holding up?"

But the only answer Mike could give was "He broke my guitar."

"_What?_" Joe, Brad and Phoenix swiveled around to stare into the backseat where Mike had laid the fragmented instrument next to him. A series of gasps followed, and then all three chimed in with "I'm so sorry" and "that bastard" and "I'm sure we can fix it."

"Where are we going to fix it?" the emcee questioned bitterly. "We can't stay anywhere in Battery City, if Better Living wants to arrest us. And we sure as hell can't play any more shows here."

"But Mike—"

"Check Brendon and Spencer's station," he said suddenly. "Check it again. Rob said it wasn't working this morning, but maybe there'll be some clue on there about why BL/ind started coming after us."

With an unsteady hand, Joe reached for the radio dial, switching it on and twisting it until the display read _103.5._ The static was gone from the airwaves, but the music was absent, too. Instead, there was a pleasant female voice blasting from the car's stereo system.

"Rock music has been targeted as a potential threat to your health, safety and well-being by officials at Better Living Industries," she informed them, her voice sweet and innocent. "As a result, we have banned all such music from Battery City airwaves. Any persons found creating rock music or participating in an organized meeting involving the creation or enjoyment of rock music will be detained for questioning. We are sorry for any inconvenience. Better Living Industries—for a better tomorrow!"

Nobody in the van made a sound.

The radio dissolved into static for a full minute, before the woman's voice penetrated the airwaves again, repeating her message. Joe swore and punched the off button savagely.

"This is all our fault," Mike muttered. "They probably got Brendon and Spencer already! I can't believe we were so stupid…" he trailed off in the middle of his thought, staring out the window absently.

"Mike, how was any of this our fault?" Phoenix cut in.

"That stupid speech I made last night before _No More Sorrow,_" Mike growled. "Obviously there was a BL/ind agent or insider or just some idiot civilian who mentioned it to the wrong person, but whatever it was, they must have told someone in the government about it! I can't believe I just singlehandedly banned music from the city and ruined my own life, how much of a bastard am I…"

"It's gonna be fine," Rob soothed. "We'll be fine. We can go live in the desert again! You didn't ruin everything…"

"But they b-broke my guitar," the Asian man choked out.

None of the rest of Xero had anything to say to that. Instead, they left the emcee to mourn his broken guitar in silence while they stared out the windows at passing Battery City. Each was consumed with their own thoughts and memories. There was no sound in the entire van.

Brad spoke up first about fifteen minutes later, just as the van was exiting the city. "We'll have to go back to the motel in the desert," he told Rob. "It's the only safe place left where BL/ind can't reach us."

"We can never come back to the city," Rob agreed grimly. His blunt comment was met with various noises of reluctant assent as the reality of their situation dawned on Xero.

"It won't be _too _bad," Phoenix said tentatively, glancing around to gauge the reactions of the rest of his band. Brad smiled and nodded, supportive of his boyfriend as always, but Mike seemed to not notice his friend's words, still mourning the loss of his guitar.

"How so?" Joe questioned, trying to break the silence.

"Well, at least we saved the instruments—" Mike let out a strangled sob at this, and Phoenix bit his lip—"scratch that. At least we know it's safe and there's food and we're used to it."

"There's _nothing_ in the desert," Mike burst out. "BL/ind won. They silenced Xero permanently. If we ever play another show, they'll come after us. We'll be stuck in the fucking desert forever."

"At least we'll be alive!" Phoenix shot back.

"I don't know if I want to be alive in this kind of world!" the Asian man exclaimed.

His words stunned the rest of his band into silence—not because they were particularly shocking, but because it was what they had all been thinking, too. They knew what desert life was like—the constant worry for food, the dry, stifling heat, and always, always that all-encompassing boredom. It wasn't an attractive prospect for any of them to face.

"Can we not talk about this now?" Brad begged desperately.

"Well, when _are_ we going to talk about it, then?" Mike shot back.

"When we get there, maybe?"

"What's going to change in the four hours it takes to get from here to there?" the emcee seethed.

"Maybe, if you get some time to calm down—"

"I'm not going to calm down, Brad!" he shouted. "I can't fucking calm down! Fucking BL/ind just fucking ruined every single thing we've worked so fucking hard for! How am I supposed to calm the fuck down after fucking everything that those corporate bastards have done to us? I'd rather protest or die trying! _Anything _is better than sitting back and letting all this shit happen—I won't allow it! I won't allow them…I can't…"

That morning was the first time that any of them had ever seen Mike Shinoda cry. He had always been the calm, structured leader, the one who kept his head even in the worst situations. But on that day, he just…lost it. Sobs wracked the young man's body, and he curled up in the back of the van, face pressed into his knees as he tried to hide from the world. The other four men were left silent in the wake of his tirade, and nobody spoke for nearly the entire journey back out into the now-hated desert. Mike's stifled sobs were the only sound in the otherwise-quiet van.

"We're close," Rob tentatively informed them three hours later. The driver had watched the scenery slowly become brighter and brighter as the road progressed farther away from Battery City, leaving the dark, rainy atmosphere behind them. When the roads became more familiar and rusty blue signs for a Motel 6 began to pop up along the road, he decided it was best to let the others know.

"Close?" Joe asked tiredly.

"Ten more minutes, maybe."

The three men in the back of the van looked out the window, Brad and Phoenix curiously and Mike reluctantly lifting his head from its' resting place on his knees to glance out, his face still tear-stained.

"Oh my God, I remember this place so well," Phoenix giggled.

"No shit Sherlock, we _did_ live here for over three months," Rob laughed.

Brad pressed his nose to the window like a child, staring out excitedly. He didn't say it, but he much preferred the desert environment to that of Battery City. Although the latter was the only place they could have played their music to a crowd, the city was dark and depressing, as if a constant raincloud covered the entire area. In complete contrast, the desert was probably the brightest, prettiest place the curly-haired guitarist had ever been.

The familiar motel appeared over the horizon, looking just like they'd left it…well, mostly.

"Was that care there when we left?" Joe asked, puzzled—because there was indeed a silver-white vehicle parked outside of the building, parallel to the door.

"I'm sure it was ad we didn't notice it," Brad said, but he, too, was confused.

Rob steered the van back into the parking lot and the five men stepped out warily, overcome with a sense of déjà vu as they remembered the day over seven months ago that they had first set foot in the building.

"Welcome back, guys," Phoenix murmured as he pushed open the door. The bassist stepped into the dark foyer confidently, sure the room would be empty.

But instead, two teenage boys spun around to look back at them, staring with wide eyes.


	17. We're Not the Ones Who Meant to Follow

**Guys, I can't believe it. Omg. I'm turning this in for a grade at school :DDD**

**My teacher noticed I was always writing and that I wrote little notes about it on the sides of some article we were supposed to be annotating so she basically told me to turn it in for an upcoming creative writing assignment, and she'd read the whole thing and grade it...I can't wait to see how this goes x3 I'm gonna be rushing to finish as much of it as I can by April 24!**

**but anyway here's the chap :D As always, please R&R!**

CHAPTER 17: WE'RE NOT THE ONES WHO'RE MEANT TO FOLLOW

July 28, 2013

A Motel, Somewhere out in the Mojave Desert, California

11:58 AM

"Stay back!" the taller dark-haired boy gasped out, throwing his hands out in front of the pair as if to protect them from the pair. "W-we're armed!"

"But I don't want to hurt you!" Phoenix exclaimed. All the same, he didn't move forward.

Mike came up behind his friend, peering over the shorter man's shoulder. "Phi? What's up?" he asked, confused.

A weird look of recognition passed over the shorter boy's face. "Hey, aren't you Mike Shinoda?" he questioned.

The taller boy, who still had his arms out in some odd gesture of defense, cocked his head to one side and peered at the older Asian man. "It _is,_" he murmured in surprise.

The emcee frowned and pushed past Phoenix to get a better view. "Who are you, what are you doing in this motel and how the fuck do you know my name?" he demanded.

The boys dropped their arms, adopting more unassuming poses once they'd identified the intruders as not a threat. "You're from Xero," the shorter one said.

"Yeah, we all are," Mike said impatiently. "Why do you care?"

"We were at your show last night," the taller told them. "We were fans before Day Zero, but we went back to the city to see you and recruit…"

"Recruit for _what?_" the Asian nearly yelled, his frustration nearly boiling over.

"The Killjoys," the two said in sync.

Rob entered the building just at that point, stopping behind Mike to take in the scene. "Who the hell are you?" he gawked at the teenage boys.

The taller one sighed. "Just call me Gerard and him Frank," he informed them. "We're here to make a broadcast for the Killjoy radio show, so can you just hold off on the whole confrontation thing for five minutes?"

"What the fuck is a Killjoy?" Mike called, but Gerard and Frank had gone behind the run-down reception desk and slipped pairs of headphones over their ears.

Gerard held up one finger as he clicked a button and adjusted the microphone attached to his headset before saying, "Poison and Ghoul, checking in for the noon report."

"Hope everyone's stayed safe," Frank added in.

Gerard nodded. "Us two just found out about rock station 103.5 getting dissolved…that was a total blow. We fucking _loved _that station. We're still not exactly sure why—our connection cut while we were coming out here—but we caught the part about the station being bad for Battery City society or whatever…"

"Fuck that," Frank muttered. "BL/ind is taking this all way too far. I'm glad we got out in time, before this whole thing explodes like I know it's going to. They can't keep you all under submission that much longer, can they?"

"I dunno, Ghoul, they're pretty damn convincing," Gerard said bitterly.

"Take it any further and they'll have to start using mind control on Battery City," Frank muttered.

The five members of Xero stood in the doorway, shocked, confused and astounded as they watched Frank and Gerard talk. They continued for a few more minutes, sarcastically discussing the possibilities for further control over Battery City and criticizing Better Living the whole time. Finally, Gerard ended their broadcast with "Killjoys, make some noise!" and shut off the computer.

"Nice job," Frank commented, slapping Gerard a high-five. The pair smiled before turning to leave and seeming to remember that there were five men waiting for their explanation blocking their exit.

"You hate Better Living?" Mike asked shortly.

Gerard nodded tentatively, gauging the older man's reaction.

The Asian smirked. "Then we can trust you."

His words seemed to reassure the teenage boys, because all of a sudden, they opened up at the same time, their words spilling out and overlapping, mixing together into one complicated but just-understandable explanation. Xero was able to tell that they had recently joined the mysterious organization known as the Killjoys, a group of rebellious anti-Better Living ex-Battery City civilians who were now living in the desert, running an illegal radio station. Best of all, the group seemed to be recruiting.

After Frank and Gerard's drawn-out conversation, Mike only had one question:

"Where do we sign up?"

Gerard and Frank exchanged confused glances, obviously surprised by the rapper's sudden request. "Well, I dunno, we're not really supposed to lead complete strangers out to the headquarters…" Frank said doubtfully.

"But we're not!" Mike said passionately. "We're Xero, anti-government rock band! You were at our show last night, right? Do you really think we'd sell you out to BL/ind after that?"

"Well, no, but still—"

"Then what are you waiting for?" the emcee exclaimed.

Gerard smiled cautiously, pushing past them and opening the door. "If you're sure…"

"Oh, believe me, we are," Mike assured him as the men piled into their separate vehicles.

The desert had never seemed more alive than it did during that drive from the Motel 6 to wherever it was the mysterious Killjoy headquarters were located. Rob suspected it was because of the lack of color in Battery City, but the area was seemingly more beautiful than the last time the five men had left it. The drive, thankfully, didn't take too long—only about half an hour—but the entire band was anxious and excitable as the vehicle raced through the desert after Frank and Gerard's car.

In the Trans-Am that the two boys drove, the mood was explosive. Frank and Gerard both spoke a mile a minute. Neither could help but draw parallels to their own journey to join the Killjoys—the meeting at the Motel, the short drive back to the warehouse, and the (hopeful) acceptance of the new recruits…

And then there was the fact that those recruits were, in fact, one of their favorite local bands.

"Are they seriously _Xero?_" Gerard asked, shocked. "Like, the rock band?" He glanced in the rearview mirror at the van behind them in disbelief.

"Well, he said he was Mike Shinoda and that they were all from Xero," Frank commented.

"But they want to be _Killjoys,_" the older boy elaborated.

Frank laughed happily. "Isn't it awesome?"

"Fuck yeah, it is!" Gerard grinned, turning his gaze back to stare out the windshield at the desert in front of them as the warehouse began to appear over the horizon. The two teens shared a devious smile, and the older stomped on the gas pedal, bringing them closer to their base.

Xero's van pulled up in front of the warehouse only a few seconds after the Trans Am did. Gerard and Frank ran straight over to the guys as they piled out of the van like overeager tour guides, anxious to begin their explanation.

"So this is where we all live—there are seven of us," Gerard started. "It's me, Frank, my brother Mikey and our friend Ray—"

"And Mike, he's really smart, and Tré who's sort of crazy and Billie, he's like the unofficial leader cause it was his idea. They were the original three, we just joined up a couple months ago," Frank completed for his friend. "I think they're all in there right now…"

"Can we just go in?" Phoenix, who was highly excitable at the moment, asked anxiously. His statement was met with various noises of agreement from his band mates.

Gerard and Frank led the five men to the warehouse's massive double doors, still talking away, and pushed them open with a shove. They swung inwards with a creak and a blast of stale air to reveal a gigantic dark room inside.

"Gerard? Frank? That you?" an older male voice called out.

"Yeah, we're back, Billie," Gerard answered, walking inside confidently. Frank motioned to Xero to follow him in.

As he stepped inside the open space, Mike's eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness and he could make out the shape of five figures coming to congregate around Gerard, Frank and his band. Their faces quickly became visible. Three looked to be a year or two older than him, and the two others seemed about sixteen or seventeen. All of them were regarding him and his friends with curiosity.

"Aren't you guys Xero?" the curly-haired teenage boy piped up, peering at them more closely.

Rob nodded, but before he could speak up, Frank burst out "Not only that, they all want to join!"

"No shit?" one of the older men said. He stood in front of the other four as if he was some sort of leader, and he assessed them speculatively, sizing the five men up.

Mike nodded. "No shit. BL/ind fucking ruined our lives. If you're protesting them, then we're all for it."

"I think you'd better explain," the man said. "Come in."

The group stepped into the circle of light shed by a single lamp in the center of the area, and the Killjoys sat down on the floor. Xero exchanged wary glances before following their example.

"Tell us everything," the raven-haired man requested.

So Mike did. He started from Day Zero and told the seven men everything, omitting absolutely nothing about their time in the desert, their struggle to get the club up and running again, their first and only gig, and finally the terrible confrontation with Better Living that morning. The group of Killjoys listened attentively, Gerard and Frank quiet for the first time since Mike had met them. No one talked until his entire story was over.

Then the black-haired leader spoke up. "That's quite a story you've got," he said seriously.

"It does sound kind of out there, but I swear it's all true," the Asian emcee promised.

The older man regarded them for a moment speculatively, looking at the band as if making a decision. Then a broad smile split his face. "I'm Billie Joe Armstrong, aka Doctor Death Defying. Welcome to the Killjoys." He held out his hand to Mike.

The rapper grinned and took it. "Mike Shinoda. Thank you."

Billie introduced the other four Killjoys as Tré, Mikey, Ray and Mike D. ("Now we've got three Mikes, this could get complicated," the older Killjoy mentioned wryly.) Ray and Mikey offered to join Gerard and Frank in showing Xero around the warehouse, which Billie quickly agreed to.

"Me and Mike have got to run—we're just visiting Battery City cause we're running low on food," he explained. "If we're not back, assume the Dracs got us and we're dead. Gerard's in charge."

"Hey! I'm older!" Tré protested.

"But Gerard actually has a brain," Billie told his friend, grinning. Tré jumped up from the floor, looking like he was ready to protest, but the raven-haired man made a dash for the door before Tré could catch him.

"Was he serious about the dying part?" Brad whispered to Frank as the older pair left.

Frank laughed. "Not really. I don't think BL/ind knows about us yet, so we should be fine for now, but there's always a chance…"

"Was that meant to be reassuring?" the guitarist murmured to his boyfriend as Frank walked over to join Gerard. "Because it kind of wasn't…"

But Phoenix, like Mike, Rob and Joe, was watching Gerard and Ray raptly as they talked about life as a Killjoy.

"We mainly run a radio station from the Motel, so you guys will have to pick codenames for that later. There are announcements at eight AM, noon and eight PM each day, so we take turns, and we either hang out here or patrol the desert when we're not," Gerard explained. "Oh, and we do weekly missions to Batter City to check if BL/ind's done anything drastic and to get food and shit."

"And the recruiting trips," Ray piped up.

The black-haired boy nodded. "Yeah, we try to find opportunities to recruit too. Like last night, Frank and I were actually at your concert to find recruits and tell people about the radio station…we didn't really get any—"

"There was that one girl," Frank reminded him.

At this, Gerard's cheeks turned a pale pink color, and he smiled lightly. "She said she'd think about it, that's not the same thing. Anyway, we try to do that, too. And that's really all…"

"Doesn't sound like a lot," Joe commented.

"It's really not," Ray cut in. "I mean Billie started the whole thing what, six months ago? We're still not sure exactly what it's gonna turn out to be, but for now, it's the best alternative to living in Battery City. At least there's no Better Living Industries out here."

This, at least, was something Xero could agree with. They all nodded fervently.

"Plus, we've at least got a house-type-thing," Frank added.

Rob laughed at this stumbling explanation. "So we all live in here?"

"It's the home base," the younger boy confirmed. "This first level down here is where everything happens, kinda like a common area or whatever, but we've got ten rooms upstairs that we use for bedrooms. I guess we'll have to start doubling up now…"

Brad and Phoenix immediately sprung together as if they were magnets, exclaiming "We will!" at the same time.

Mikey raised an eyebrow. "What's up with you two?"

But the pair was too busy giggling about something together to explain, so Joe laughed awkwardly. "Well, er, funny story…I hope none of you are homophobic?"

"Ohhh!" the teenage boys chorused, and they laughed.

"Nah, that's totally cool," Gerard assured them. "We don't judge each other out here. So you guys can room, and I guess I can move in with you, Frankie?"

"Cool with me," the shorter boy answered.

The teenage boys laughed freely and chatted with Xero as they showed the men around the huge warehouse, pointing out important places like where they kept food, the two as-of-yet unused large rooms on the top floor that they were in the process of clearing out, and the ten rooms lining the second floor that they used as bedrooms. It wasn't much of a top floor, just a railing that jutted out over the large ground-floor area, but it did make a pretty convenient place to put bedrooms.

"We'll have to drive back out to the motel to get beds and shit for you guys—that van of yours will probably help with that," Ray explained. "That's where we got almost everything. It's probably a good thing you guys moved out, cause we kind of stole some of your furniture…"

"Not like there wasn't enough to start with," Rob laughed. "But speaking of the van, we should go bring the instruments inside…"

This statement cut Mike off mid-laugh. Only the drummer noticed as he paused on the way to the door, suddenly remembering the fate of his guitar.

"You okay, Mike?" his best friend asked, concerned.

The emcee swallowed. "I-I'll be fine," he mumbled.

"Sure?"

"Yeah." Mike smiled weakly. "Nothing I can do about it now, right? I can always borrow Brad's guitar…and hey, at least we're out from under BL/ind's control now."

"Yeah, we're lucky we found those two," Rob agreed as they started walking again. Outside, the four teenage Killjoys were helping Joe, Brad and Phoenix unload Rob's drum kit from the back of the van. All four wore a star struck expression, as if they couldn't believe they were actually allowed to touch such important instruments. It was funny to compare them to the rest of Xero, who were banging around noisily as they dropped amps from the back of the van to the desert sand.

"I can get your guitar, Mike," Rob offered, not wanting his friend to become upset by the sight again.

Mike sighed. "Nah, it's fine," he responded before clambering into the back of the van where the fragmented instrument lay on the worn-out vinyl seat.

Tenderly, Mike lifted his broken guitar out of the vehicle, cradling it as if it was a newborn baby. Functional or not, it was still his most precious possession. He knew there was an almost nonexistent chance of it ever getting fixed, but still he couldn't help but hope.

Gerard caught sight of the instrument first as Mike exited the van. He paused as he was rolling the bass drum to the entrance to question "Hey, what happened to your guitar?"

"One of the BL/ind agents—Draculoids, you called them?—stepped on it when we were trying to get away this morning," Mike said, trying to keep any strong emotion out of his voice.

"Damn," the teenage boy exclaimed. "That sucks! Sorry…"

It was getting harder and harder for Mike to keep passing the loss of his guitar off as no big deal, but somehow, he managed to say "It'll be fine, there's nothing you can do about it."

"We could try to fix it…" Frank said doubtfully.

"I don't think you can," the emcee sighed. "It's pretty busted, isn't it?" His friends made reluctant sounds of agreement.

"You can still sing," Rob reminded him.

Mike nodded. "Thank God for that."

"And you can always borrow mine," Brad offered.

"Thanks," the emcee nodded. He knew it would never be the same, but still, he appreciated his friends' efforts to cheer him up.

Soon, though, the guitar was forgotten in the whirlwind of activity that was bringing their instruments in, driving back out to the motel for mattresses, struggling to get said mattresses upstairs and into their requisite bedrooms, and finally, allowing themselves to just hang out with their new companions.

After setting up their neighboring rooms, Mike, Joe and Rob ventured back downstairs to where Tré and the four teenage boys sat, clustered around a fuzzy old TV. The oldest of the five had commandeered a broken old armchair. Gerard and Frank squished together in the other, and Mikey and Ray were seated cross-legged on the floor. Their attention was half-focused on the show, which looked to be some sort of news program.

"Hey." Mike gave an awkward half-wave. "Um, we're all set up. I don't know where Phi and Brad went, but you might not want to go in their room for a while, just judging by some of the noises…"

"A _long _while," Joe clarified.

Gerard grinned. "Does that happen a lot?"

"Nah, they're not too bad…I just think they've been missing it, since we were all cooped up in the same club for a while," the Korean man told them. "They can get a bit…horny, sometimes, though…"

"Don't we all?" Tré groaned. "At least they've got each other! There is a serious lack of females in the desert, and I'm getting bored of having to do it myself…"

"_Ewww!_" everyone chorused. Mike must have pulled some sort of face, because Mikey leaned over to murmur "He's not that bad, I swear, you just have to get used to him…"

"I'll take your word for it," the emcee shuddered.

At seven fifteen, Billie and Mike returned, laden with food and stories of Battery City. "The entire place is swarming with Draculoids," Mike informed them grimly. "I think they're ramping up security."

"Shit, that's never good," Gerard murmured.

"We'll just have to carry on," Billie reassured the group. "And speaking of, who wants to show the new guys how we work the radio station?"

At this, Gerard, Ray, Frank and Mikey all jumped to their feet excitedly with shouts of "I'll do it!" or "Me!" They then turned to look at each other in confusion and hostility.

"Jesus, don't volunteer all at once," the leader muttered. "Maybe Mike, Tré and I should just do it…"

"No!" four shouts rang out.

Billie smirked. "It's so nice to see enthusiasm."

In the end, every single one of the Killjoys—new and old—drove out to the motel to broadcast. Mike, Rob and Joe ended up in their van with Billie, Tré, Mikey and Ray, who informed them that before they made a broadcast, they had to pick Killjoy names. "I was Doctor D, but that somehow got expanded into Doctor Death Defying," Billie grinned. "Tré is Adrenaline, Mikey's Kobra, and Ray is Jet. We've got Revolution, Ghoul and Poison in the other car."

"So it's just random?" Joe laughed.

The four Killjoys exchanged glances. "Basically," Tré confirmed.

"Then I'll be Surgeon," the Korean man said decisively. Rob and Mike glanced at their friend, confused by his sudden assurance.

"What?" Joe shrugged. "It's what I wanted to be before the apocalypse."

"I didn't know that," Rob said wonderingly.

The man shrugged again. "It wasn't important…"

Mike and Rob, however, were much less decisive about their Killjoy aliases. They must have dreamed up thirty different options between them before Rob settled on Wolf.

"Damn, I was gonna take that one," Mike groaned. "What the fuck am I supposed to do now?" He glanced at his best friend helplessly, imploring him with his eyes.

"What do I _look _like I should be?" he asked Rob.

"Angel," Rob blurted out before he could stop the word from spilling out. He immediately slapped a hand over his mouth as if he could force it back in, but Mike was already turning the suggestion over in his head, repeating it to test how it sounded.

"Angel," the Japanese man repeated. "Angel. That's actually kind of cool."

"You're not very angelic, though," Joe guffawed.

Mike punched his shoulder. "Just shut up, you."

"You should use that one," Mikey piped up.

The emcee thought about it for a minute before announcing, "I think I will. I'll be Angel."

"Sweet," Rob exclaimed.

As long as Mike never asked why he'd thought of that, he would be fine.

A few minutes later, they pulled up to the motel to find Brad and Phoenix, now dubbed Crash and Detonator, following Mike, Gerard and Frank into the lobby they had left only eight hours ago. None of the new recruits could quite prevent themselves from talking rapidly and excitedly, in anticipation for their introduction onto the airwaves. Finally, Billie pulled on the headset and pressed _play._

"Welcome back, Battery City. Doctor Death Defying here. We've got some surprise guests tonight, and I'm sure you'll be hearing a _lot _more of them in the future, because today, five new members have joined the ranks of the Killjoys." Without a word, he passed the headset to Mike, who nearly dropped it. He stared at the object with a mix of shock and excitement.

"Well, put it on," Billie urged.

So Mike did. He slipped the headphones over his ears and adjusted the mic before glancing back to the leader to confirm what he should do next.

"Just talk," the older man told him.

"Um…" Mike stuttered. "Hey, I'm Mi—I mean Angel. I'm Angel. Me and my best friends joined the Killjoys today because we hate Better Living, and we're still getting the hang of this thing, but hopefully I'll be able to get it sometime soon so I can actually contribute."

He could have said more, but Billie was gesturing at him to pass the headset to Phoenix on his right. Almost reluctantly, the Asian man removed the headphones and gave them to his friend, who greeted the listeners with a cheery "What's up, Battery City?"

It took close to fifteen minutes for all five to introduce themselves and for Billie to finish the announcement, ending it with an upbeat exclamation of "Killjoys, make some noise!" Xero watched, rapt, as the leader turned the computer off and smiled at the eleven men assembled around him.

"That's all there is to it," he announced. "Welcome to the Killjoys."


	18. These Pigs are After Me, After You

**Three hundred pages typed. How do I do this? SIFTW is the longest story I've ever written, and I'm loving every minute of it.**

**I'm one review away from 50 which would absolutely make my week 333 I love all my reviewers, thank you so much. I love to know your opinions on my writing! Enjoy the chapter, I worked hard on this one-it's got some Killjoy action in it, _finally, _and there's definitely more like it coming ;D **

CHAPTER 18: THESE PIGS ARE AFTER ME, AFTER YOU

September 20, 2013

A Motel, Somewhere out in the Mojave Desert, California

12:06 PM

"Killjoys, make some noise!" Frank exclaimed. He clicked off the microphone and turned to smile at Billie and Gerard.

"Nice," the older man said approvingly. "You guys are getting good at this."

"It's fun," Frank laughed. He ran a hand through his short black hair and pulled off the headset, laying it next to the computer for whoever got the night shift that day.

Billie smirked. "Soon you guys won't need me here at all."

"Aw, Billie!" the two exclaimed in sync.

"You're Killjoys in your own right now," he grinned. "Just cause I started it doesn't mean you two aren't just as good—or better—at it than me."

Gerard and Frank glowed. Getting their leader's approval meant a lot to them, maybe more than it should. They both looked up to Billie as a role model and a guardian.

He laughed at their excitement. "Come on, let's get back to the others. I think Mikey was saying something about wanting to paint the Trans Am this afternoon, and I'm sure you don't want to miss that."

"The Trans Am!" Gerard nearly squeaked. The car had been his and friends' main project in the past couple weeks. Slowly, with the help of a box of tools they'd found in the warehouse's office, they had managed to work the car from a barely functioning piece of scrap metal into a gleaming, bullet-fast vehicle fit for the Killjoys. It had taken Mikey's brain, Ray's strong brawn and capability with mechanical tools, Frank's knowledge of cars and engines from his father's workshop, and Gerard's artistic skills to bring the vehicle back to life—but bit by bit, they'd reshaped it into an almost entirely new vehicle.

"I can't wait to see what that epic Killjoy logo you've been telling us about is," Billie said as he led the two younger men out of the motel.

Gerard smiled. He had worked hard on the design for that logo, drawing and re-drawing the symbol over and over again. He'd ran through quite a few precious pieces of paper perfecting it—but it was worth it. It was going on the hood of the Trans Am that afternoon with a can of spray paint they'd brought back from Battery City.

"It'll be unveiled tonight," he promised, climbing into the passenger seat of the convertible. Frank protested loudly as he was herded into the backseat , Billie taking the wheel and gunning the engine.

"Why do you always get the front seat?" Frank grumbled.

Gerard smiled smugly. "I'm older."

"But that's not fair," his best friend whined. "You're—hey, what's that?"

"What?" Billie glanced up into the rearview mirror. His eyes locked on the pure white spot on the blue horizon behind them, speeding towards them at an incredible rate.

"Recruits!" Gerard gasped. "They've got to be! That's the only reason people come out here!"

"We've got to be careful, Gee," Billie warned, but he was already slowing their own vehicle in anticipation.

"I wonder what they'll be like," Frank said excitedly. "How many do you think there'll be?"

"I bet it's a lot. Maybe it's that group of teens we met at the rally last week."

"Maybe it's a girl!" Frank's eyes gleamed with curiosity.

"Ooh, yes!" Gerard cheered. "I fucking hope there's a girl!"

"Or even—"

"That's a BL/ind car," Billie cut in grimly.

Gerard and Frank's mouths snapped shut, and they glanced back at the car together. Sure enough, the white vehicle currently gaining on them had Better Living's new logo—even the company had adopted the ironic moniker of BL/ind as their own—painted on the doors.

"It could still be runaways," Gerard said nervously, watching the vehicle as it moved inexorably forward.

A white-gloved hand stuck out of one window, clutching something indistinguishable from that distance.

"What's he holding?" Frank questioned.

The answer became clear when the hand lifted it and aimed a moment later, a beam of light zapping by his window and shooting off the side mirror.

"Shit!" he squealed, throwing himself back.

Billie emitted a loud string of curse words as he pounded the gas pedal, sending the car careening off down the desert road. But he'd lost precious distance slowing down to see who they were. The BL/ind vehicle had no difficulty matching their speed, and two more hands had joined the first at the windows. A storm of light rays were flying towards their vehicle. They hit the back of the car with metallic screeches, flurries of sparks flying off the places where they made contact. Above Frank's head, the back windshield shattered, blasting the teenage boy with shards of glass.

"Frankie!" Gerard shouted, twisting around.

Frank cowered in the backseat, bent down with his hands covering his neck. The top of his dark head was covered in sharp fragments and the back of his hands were bloody, but he looked back up at his best friend and his face was thankfully unharmed.

"We're almost back to the warehouse," Billie growled.

"That's a good thing, right?" Gerard exclaimed frantically.

"But we can't lead them back to everyone else!" the leader yelled, his face grim as he jerked the steering wheel. "We have to lead them away or something!"

"There are at least five of them and three of us!" Gerard argued. "It's suicide!"

Billie said nothing to this, just staring even more grimly out the windshield.

"We have to get backup from the base!" the younger boy continued.

"I'm not condemning everyone else to death, too!" Billie finally shouted, his eyes manic. "It's better if three of us die than twelve! Do you _want _Mikey and Ray killed too?"

This effectively shut Gerard up.

"We'll double back towards Battery City," the older man decided. "We'll lead them to that diner we found a couple weeks ago—make them think that was our base, and that there's only three of us. Maybe the rest will find our bodies sometime and figure out what happened."

"Well we better go soon, cause I can nearly see the warehouse," Frank interrupted.

"Fuck." The large building was indeed appearing over the horizon, now visible to the three Killjoys. In a moment the people in the BL/ind car would see it, too.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Billie muttered, jerking the steering wheel as hard as he could. It sent the vehicle into a tailspin, launching it onto the dusty sand on the side of the road.

"Billie, what are you doing?" Gerard shrieked in fear.

"It's the only way!" the leader yelled.

At that moment, there was a loud sound, almost like a gunshot, and the car jolted. Gerard, Billie and Frank were thrown into the air as the car toppled off the side of the road. The car nearly flipped as it fell off the lip of the pavement, slamming to one side and finally righting itself as it hit solid ground.

"Fuck no!" Billie yelled, pounding his fist on the steering wheel. This only served the purpose of setting off the loud car horn. It blared across the desert, alerting probably everyone within a mile radius of their predicament.

"They're coming!" Frank gasped. He pointed back up at the road, where the group of five Draculoids was swarming over the ridge.

Billie smiled grimly. "Then it's time to stand and fight."

He wrenched the dented door open, raising his head high as he exited the car. Gerard turned back to Frank.

"Love you, Frankie," he muttered. "See you in Heaven."

"Or hell," Frank smirked.

Gerard made an impulsive grab for Frank's hand as they exited the car, and his best friend squeezed tightly. "We're not going down without a fight," Gerard whispered.

"How are we supposed to fight them?" Frank murmured hopelessly. "They've got rayguns. We have nothing."

Gerard glanced around their surroundings, and his eyes landed on the car. He grasped the fender, which was hanging off the busted vehicle by one bolt, and pulled with both hands.

"Now we do," he smirked.

And so the three men charged, holding jagged pieces of the car aloft. It was a suicide charge, and they knew it. But maybe they could take some of BL/ind's people down with them.

Shots began to fly once again as the Dracs reached the bottom of the ridge. The three ignored them, continuing their crazy sprint towards the group of imposing white-suited men. Frank dropped to the ground and began to crawl, ducking the lasers.

Gerard reached them first. With a yell, he brought the mangled piece of metal down on the head of one Draculoid. The man staggered under the blow but didn't fall, instead backhanding the boy's arm and throwing Gerard to the sandy ground.

"You didn't think you could actually _beat _us, did you?" he sneered. "Three puny, unorganized rebels against five of Better Living's fiercely trained fighters? Look at you, you don't even have weapons!"

Gerard tried to back away, scrambling backwards with his hands, but the Draculoid followed, laughing. He trained his gun on the boy's temple, smiling cruelly.

"Resistance is futile. BL/ind will create perfect order," he told the fallen man.

"BL/ind is a cruel dictatorship that will never rule the world," Gerard growled.

The Draculoid's lip curled, and he stared down at Gerard in disgust. "Say goodnight, Killjoy," he rasped.

Gerard braced himself, waiting for the shot that would end it all. He refused to close his eyes. He would die with all his senses, remembering everything.

But that shot never came.

An odd look passed over the Draculoid's face, and he dropped his raygun before he could pull the trigger. His body crumpled, losing control of its muscles as a dreamy expression filled its eyes. His head cocked to the side to reveal Mikey, one hand pinching the base of the Draculoid's neck.

"Jesus," Mikey muttered, stunned, as the Drac fell to the ground.

"M-Mikey?" Gerard stuttered. Then he noticed the men swarming down the hill, every other Killjoy running towards the battle with fierce, determined expressions on their faces.

The older boy shook his head. "H-how…?"

"Good thing we learned about pressure points in karate," Mikey grinned, glancing at the fallen enemy.

Around them, though, the battle still raged. Frank was managing to shield himself from the worst of the weird rays shot from the Draculoids' guns, using the dented fender as a guard. Gerard could see he was tiring quickly, though. Billie had managed to knock the raygun out of one Draculoid's hands and was swinging punches, but two more were surrounding him. He would be done for.

But at that moment, the other eight men reached the fray, leaping straight in. Mike and Tré led the charge, each holding what looked to be a hammer for a weapon. Gerard scrambled to his feet as they reached the spot where Billie had just vanished behind three Dracs. They wasted no time in attacking, felling one immediately and engaging the other two.

"Looks like we might not be dying today after all," he muttered, stunned.

It took a one-two blow to fell one Drac, Mike slamming it over the head with the hammer and Rob following with some heavy piece of machinery. The second enemy fell, and the Killjoys made short work of the other two. Gerard had barely gotten to his feet by the time the fourth hit the sand, taken out by a crushing blow to the back of the head from Ray. But the fifth was nowhere in sight.

He barely had time to register the warning shouts before he heard Frank's tortured yell from beside him. He turned to see his best friend seized around the throat by the evil policeman, the air slowly being compressed from his lungs as his eyes bulged out grotesquely.

"_Fuck! Frankie!_" Gerard screamed, throwing himself at the grappling pair. The Draculoid knocked him to the side with a casual swipe of his hand, the other fist still clenched around Frank's neck. The boy's face was turning blue.

He would be dead in a matter of seconds. The other Killjoys were still too far away from the pair. Gerard was the only one who could do anything.

Blindly, he reached out, clutching at the sand in hope a weapon would magically reveal itself. The car was too far away, he didn't have time to run for it. He had to find something _now. _Frank was fucking _dying._

His hand landed on something cold and smooth. It felt metallic in his sweaty grip as he seized it.

_The other Drac's raygun, _he realized in surprise.

Gerard had never shot a gun before, never even held one. The closest he'd ever come was a laser gun at Ray's twelfth birthday, the kind that wouldn't hurt anything if you shot it wrong. But this wasn't a fake kids' gun. This was an actual pistol, capable of hurting or even killing.

But Frank was fainting, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as the Drac crushed his windpipe. This couldn't happen. It wouldn't happen. Gerard wouldn't let it.

So he raised the gun, trying to still his trembling, and wrapped his hands around the cool metal handle. The safety was still off from when the Drac had dropped it. All he had to do was pull the trigger.

Gerard aimed at the Draculoid's head, putting the ugly black mass of hair attached to its' mask right between the crosshairs, and fired.

The gun kicked back in his hands, jerking as a high-pitched _zap _emitted from the futuristic weapon and something blue-white and deadly flew from the end. Time seemed to slow as it cut through the air, slicing a path towards Frank and the Draculoid in slow motion. Gerard was sure he had aimed wrong, that the laser would hit Frank instead of the Drac, that it would miss entirely. But it didn't.

The Draculoid reared back almost comically, his fingers loosening from Frank's throat as he fell back. Both men crumple to the ground without support.

Gerard didn't allow himself to think about what he'd just done. Instead, he ran for his fallen best friend, throwing himself down next to Frank frantically.

"Frankie, Frankie, wake up!" he begged desperately, grabbing the smaller boy by the shoulders and shaking him. His eyes were lightly closed and his lips were parted, but whether air was entering his body, Gerard wasn't sure.

"Please, Frankie!" he gasped. "C'mon, breathe! You are _not _dying on me!"

In desperation, he slammed a hand on his friend's back, forgetting that the action only helped if something was lodged in his throat. But it seemed to do the trick, because Frank sputtered and his chest began to rise and fall in quick and shallow gasps. His eyelids fluttered with each breath.

"Thank fucking God!" Gerard sobbed. He grabbed Frank's shoulders and drew him into a tight hug.

"Wassappening, Gee?" Frank mumbled.

Gerard shook his head. "Don't you ever fucking scare me like that again, you bastard."

The sound of running feet became audible, and soon the boys found themselves in the center of a ring formed by their friends, all staring down on them concernedly.

"We're okay," Gerard choked out. "We're both okay."

Billie reached down and laid a hand on Gerard's shoulder comfortingly. "You did amazing, Gerard. How'd you learn to shoot like that?"

"I didn't," he muttered. "I've never shot anything before."

The leader raised an eyebrow. "Wow. Lucky shot."

"Really lucky," Frank agreed sleepily. "Thanks, Gee."

"It was just adrenaline," the boy muttered, staring at his feet as his face turned red. He blatantly refused to look at the crumpled body of the Draculoid he had shot lying only a few feet away. "C'mon, let's get you back to the base, Frank. You need to rest."

"Gerard—" Rob protested, but the boy had already slung his friend's arm around his shoulders and was hauling Frank back up the hill towards the warehouse.

"Leave him," Billie advised. "It's a bit much for all of us to deal with."

"What do we do with them?" Mikey nudged the Draculoid Gerard had shot with his toe, repulsed.

Billie sighed. "We make sure they're all dead."

The comment drew gasps from the group of men, and Mike S begged, "Can't we just take them back to the city or something? I mean, this might not be their fault, they could be brainwashed…"

But the older man shook his head grimly. "They've seen our hideout, and they've seen our faces. We can't run the risk of letting them go back to Battery City and tell BL/ind about us."

As much as they hated it, the others knew he was right, so they reluctantly branched off to feel for a pulse on each body. Mikey crouched down next to the Draculoid that had only a minute ago been squeezing the life out of his friend, repulsed but fascinated at the same time. The man wore a rubber Halloween mask made to look like that of some sort of black-and-white monster. There was a small, clean hold in his forehead, the edges of it burned brown and smoking.

Tentatively, the boy placed his fingers on the man's neck, pushing the mask up slightly to access the carotid artery. The vein was still under his fingers. The figure didn't breathe.

Sighing with relief, Mikey stood again. "Dead," he called out.

"Same here," Tré yelled from where he stood over another body.

"And here," Brad confirmed while Phoenix stared down at the enemy's body in disgust.

"And here," Ray added.

"Rob?" Billie called out, raising an eyebrow at the drummer who kneeled next to the last body.

Rob's fingers were still pressed to its' neck, his eyes scrunched shut tightly in concentration. He muttered something under his breath before looking back up and catching Billie's eye.

"Alive," he said.

With a shocking amount of calmness, the leader walked over to where Rob crouched. He bent down and retrieved the Draculoid's raygun from beside the body. He didn't allow himself to wince as he aimed the gun at the man's chest and squeezed the trigger.

"Now he's not," Billie said simply, and began to walk back up to the warehouse too.

The Killjoys ended up burying the five Draculoids in a mass grave in the spot the battle had taken place, marking the spot with a large piece of metal from the destroyed convertible. They checked the bodies over for any information or useful items before throwing sand on the grave, sick to the stomach at the thought of such harsh treatment to the five men. None of them could bear to remove the Draculoids' masks. It would make everything worse, give faces to the mindless killing they had just performed—because even though they were the enemy and obviously had no qualms about killing the Killjoys themselves, the rebels still had emotions, and more specifically, remorse.

They did their best to forget about the day's events that night as all twelve sat in a large circle after dinner, staring instead at the objects laying in the center of the ring.

"What are we supposed to do with them?" Ray asked finally.

"Keep 'em," Mike D answered grimly. "Who knows how many more Dracs BL/ind is gonna send out here."

"We have to protect ourselves somehow," Joe agreed.

"I say every group that leaves the warehouse, no matter what reason, has to have at least two with them," Mike S suggested.

Billie nodded. "Good plan. We still need to figure out how they function, but for now, they'll work."

General noises of agreement burst from all sides of the circle, but still none of them moved to actually touch one of the rayguns.

"They look so…so BL/ind-ish," Frank said finally, shuddering. "They're…sterile. It's creepy."

Gerard pondered his friend's comment for a few moments, feeling the same way as Frank as he stared at the rayguns. It was the lack of color, he decided. That, more than anything, made them look so scary. It was as if they, like their previous owners, were incapable of emotion. If only they were brighter…

The young man was struck with a sudden flash of inspiration, and he stood, grinning. "Back in a minute," he called out, already jogging off to one of the small offices and storage closets along the back wall. Mike D shot Frank a questioning glance, but the smaller boy could only shrug, just as mystified.

It took a few minutes for Gerard to return, hauling a heavy can in each hand. "They had paint in the storage closet," he panted happily. "God knows why…"

The group watched, intrigued, as he pried the lid off the first can to reveal vivid banana-yellow paint. Gerard poked a paintbrush in and stirred it, then lifted one of the rayguns from the pile. Carefully, he began to paint, dragging the brush down the metal and leaving streaks of bright yellow.

After a few minutes, he dropped the paintbrush and held the gun aloft again. Instead of its' original stark white, it was now the shade of sunshine on a summer day, bright and pure.

"Better," he smiled.


	19. Everything That We Believed In was a Lie

**Wow, thank you so so much for all the reviews last chapter 333 seriously, guys, we're over 50? I love you so much, all of you lovely readers!**

**...and therefore I apologize for the cliffhanger at the end XD**

CHAPTER 19: EVERYTHING THAT WE BELIEVED IN WAS A LIE

October 13, 2013

Hawthorne Towers Apartment Complex, Battery City, California

7:30 AM

Pregnancy was not all it was cut out to be.

With each passing day, Amy was beginning to hate her body more and more. First, there had been the constant vomit, eat, vomit, eat cycle of morning sickness that lasted nearly three months. She'd managed to return to work after the first couple of days, but every day it had been a struggle to hide her obvious sickness from her colleagues. Then there were the headaches and backaches that could paralyze her in fits of pain for nearly five minutes at a time. The worst part, though, was watching her body slowly distort itself to accommodate the thing growing in her stomach. It had gotten to the point where she'd had to quit work because her pregnant belly was becoming all too obvious. She could barely even move these days.

But still, Amy loved her baby with all her heart.

Instead of driving Chester and Amy apart as she feared a child would, the baby had brought them even closer together. Chester was overly conscious of his fiancée's sudden limitations and so made sure to take care of her, coming home every day during his lunch break and even cutting the last hour of work sometimes to check that both she and their child were still alright. His level of consideration for his family was adorable in Amy's eyes. Honestly, she couldn't have asked for a better partner to go through the whole horrible pregnancy process with.

Sometimes, Chester seemed even more excited about the coming baby than Amy did. He would always ask how their child was every morning and every day when he got home just after kissing his fiancée hello. Amy could only giggle and tell him to ask the baby himself, which always prompted Chester to kneel down and start talking to her stomach as if it could actually hear. The child brought out a side of her boyfriend that Amy had never seen. He had always been affectionate, but he was almost childishly exuberant about the prospect of their family. Any loved it—it was possibly the cutest thing she had ever seen him do.

That crisp October morning started the way that mornings in their apartment always did, with Chester waking up at quarter to eight for work and trying not to rouse his still-drowsy fiancée. As usual, he failed desperately. Amy woke as Chester was trying to disentangle his arms from around her.

"Hey, baby," she mumbled sleepily, opening one eye to glance over her shoulder at him.

"Hey, darling." Chester kissed her forehead gently. "Sorry I woke you up."

"It's fine," she yawned, rolling onto her back. He pulled back and got out of bed, smiling down at Amy.

"But you need your rest," he murmured. "You're pregnant, darling."

"All I do is sleep all day, anyway," she laughed.

He laughed too, sitting down on the edge of the bed and laying one hand on her prominent stomach. "I know. I just want to make sure you'll be okay…"

Chester's endearingly overprotective attitude towards her never got old for Amy. She sighed and grinned up at him. "I'll be fine, Chaz, don't worry, and so will the baby. I can take care of it till you get back."

"Don't forget to take care of yourself, too," he told her, pressing a quick kiss to her lips before standing again. "I'd die if anything ever hurt you."

"You worry too much, Chazy," she called after him as he walked into the closet to get ready for work.

"Aren't I allowed to worry?" he shouted back.

She giggled. "Well of course, but you don't have to worry so much! I can take care of myself, you know."

"I know you can," he answered. "But just in case." He re-emerged from the closet, clothed and ready for work, and kissed Amy one last time. "Now go back to sleep, darling—I'll be back before you know it."

"Have a good day, love," she murmured sleepily.

"Love you."

"Love you more."

"Impossible!" Chester called out, laughing.

"You better believe it!" Amy answered cheekily just as the front door slammed shit behind him, signifying the departure of her fiancé for work that day. She sighed and flopped back onto her pillow.

Days without Chester tended to be long and boring. Amy had grown used to his constant presence over the months they had spent cooped up in that basement together, but once they moved into Battery City, she'd been too busy with her new job and her new life to have time to miss him. Now, though, she was spending her days alone with nothing to do.

The break had certainly given her time to think. Unfortunately, thinking was about the last thing Amy wanted to do at the moment. Time to think was also time to reflect on everything that she'd lost in the apocalypse. There was no one left from her old life except Chester and her half-sister Adrienne, who hadn't heard anything about the rest of their family either. Amy had spent much of her time communicating with Adrienne via e-mail, as Adrienne was stationed out of her almost completely destroyed college about five miles away from Battery City. She had been working in the basement on her laptop when she heard news of the fire and hadn't dared to go above-ground until the school's fire alarms quit blaring nearly twenty-four hours later. As far as she knew, only six students had survived as well as a few outlying houses in the area.

Amy was forever grateful that her sibling had survived. She'd always been close to Adrienne and their relationship head been closer to that of best friends instead of half-sisters, and she knew people whose entire family had died last December. To have not only Chester but Adrienne with her was something she would be eternally grateful for.

The apocalypse had taken her mother and father, thought—or at least, she had no idea where they were. They had been home alone that night and were probably burned alive, entombed in their suburban LA bungalow. Her house didn't have a basement. She would have died if she hadn't stayed with Chester.

But Amy had survived. She was very much alive…and very much pregnant, her body reminded her as a wave of nausea washed over her and she dashed for the bathroom.

Chester didn't reminisce on the past as he walked to the construction site that his froup had started work on a week ago. He didn't have time to. Instead, all of his thoughts each day were focused on the future.

The baby was a blessing, that was for sure. But it was an illegal blessing. He'd been too apprehensive to actually visit Kanpeki Center and borrow a copy of Better Living's new laws as citizens were allowed to do, worried that the company would notice something was up, but he knew that sex was illegal for minors—and minors was defined as anyone under 21 by Better Living Industries. He'd thought that as long as they told nobody about their, er, activities, they would be safe. But if anyone ever noticed Amy's swollen belly…

That was crazy. Amy was safe at home, and in a few short months, their child would be born. They could pass it off as a younger sibling until one day, when they would be able to finally tell the truth and become a _real _family.

The teenage boy sighed and smiled, looking up into the gray-blue cloudy sky that always hung over Battery City. _Family. _It was such a beautiful word. Amy, a mother—him, a _father. _It was unthinkable and absolutely perfect at the same time.

As he reached the site of the new skyscraper they were working on rebuilding, Chester had to work to push the thoughts of Amy and their baby to the back of his mind. If he continued to dwell on it he felt sure the happiness would flow over and he would end up telling one of the other workers about it. It had nearly happened before, multiple times, but he had always been able to stop himself for the sake of Amy and the kid. They were his number one priority.

"Chester!" a man's voice called out. He looked back down from the sky, realizing he had paused in front of the building site. A trio of men that were a part of his construction team, Tom, Mark and Travis, were waving at him from the opposite direction as they rounded the corner.

"Hey," Chester called back. He smiled at them as his colleagues neared him, joking loudly and shoving each other.

"What's up?" Tom greeted him. The men followed him into the worksite, where nearly a thousand men had already congregated, and sought out their overseer to check in for the day. The man gave them a gruff smile and their work supplies, sending them off with a cheery "See you at twelve!"

"How's Amy?" Travis elbowed Chester's arm and winked as they walked to the portion of the building they were working on. "You two staying safe?"

Chester grinned. "Amy's fantastic." This prompted a chorus of 'oohs' and nudges from Tom and Travis. Mark, however was oddly quiet, looking more serious than he normally was. The teenager made a mental note to ask him about it later.

Soon enough, the four men settled into a pattern of work, chatting freely as they repaired the fifth-floor wooden infrastructure. Mark still seemed oddly uneasy, but Chester was soon able to forget his friend's weird mood among Tom and Travis' witty diatribe and the constant thoughts of Amy.

Amy was thinking of Chester, too, as she finally rolled out of bed. He was never far from her mind during the day, but she was mostly focused on the worse-than-normal sickness on that date. There was definitely something alive in her body, because it had been kicking the inside of her belly all morning. It was taking all her effort to stay on her feet as she moved around the apartment and not to collapse onto the couch, letting the pain and fatigue and nausea overtake her body.

There wasn't much to distract her from the sickness, though. Amy's apartment was slowly turning into a prison for the young girl. Both the television and the Internet were censored by Better Living Industries to the point that there was no entertainment, and there was hardly anything else in the tiny apartment. Even worse was the fact that she couldn't leave the safety of her home. Going outside meant other people and possible interaction with Better Living workers. Interaction led to questions about her obvious pregnancy, which led to questions about her age, which led to background checks. Background checks would turn up the truth about her condition—and that was the one thing people could never be allowed to find out about Amy.

Going outside was not an option. TV and Internet were mindless, pointless distractions. There was no one for her to talk to, so Amy thought.

She missed work. She never thought she'd say it, but she missed the daily routine of the Better Living office. The day she had left was still clear in her mind, especially her goodbye to Sharon, who she hadn't seen in months. Sharon had been a friend, and Amy had trusted her, maybe even more than she should have. After all, she had told the older woman quite a lot about her condition on the day that she quit…

July 14, 2013

The 21st Floor, Kanpeki Center, Battery City

10:07 AM

"You're _leaving?_" Sharon gawked, watching Amy drift around the small office as she collected her belongings.

"Not permanently," Amy clarified. "I'm just taking my six-month break early."

"But that's the only break you'll get in the next ten years! Why would you use it so early?"

"Chester and I wanted some time together before we get married," the younger girl explained, feeding her friend the carefully constructed lie she and her fiancé had dreamed up the night before. She slid her laptop into her bag and set it on her office chair, turning to her older coworker. "I'll be back, Shar," she promised.

Sharon regarded her curiously. "Are you sure that's the only reason?"

_What?_ Amy froze, not sure what to say. She and Chester hadn't planned for this. She'd thought everyone would accept their story, too unobservant to dig deeper…

But this was Sharon she was talking about, Sharon who saw everything and let nothing slip past her. Sharon had seen her throw up, had seen her stomach grow over time, had seen her awkward mood swings. Sharon had told her everything about herself, and Sharon understood her.

Amy came to an important decision in that moment: _Sharon could be trusted._

"No, you're right," she sighed. "That's not all. I'm pregnant."

Sharon gasped, her hand flying to cover her mouth. She stared at Amy, eyes wide and bemused. "But—but you're _seventeen,_" she murmured, her words muffled by her hand.

Amy nodded stoically. "It was after Chester and I got engaged. We may be young, but we're going to be together for the rest of our lives. It was our decision. And then…" Her hands moved to encircle her slightly bulging stomach caringly, and an adoring look spread across her face. "This happened," she shrugged.

"But Amy, that's _illegal,_" Sharon hissed.

"It's not hurting anyone," the young girl protested. "Nobody will care if they don't find out."

"You know they could execute you if they hear about this," Sharon said grimly.

Amy smiled weakly. "But they _won't _find out."

Sharon watched her face for a moment, staring at Amy as if calculating something. Then she stood up and embraced the smaller girl, folding Amy into a warm hug.

"Stay safe, Amy Lee," she whispered. "See you soon."

"Thanks, Shar," Amy murmured. She pulled back and looked up at her friend. "You won't tell, will you?"

"Not a soul," Sharon promised.

Amy hadn't seen Sharon since, but she was sure her friend was doing just fine. As long as Better Living existed, they would need secretaries like her, and she would keep getting her supplies from the company. Amy's own pay rations had been stopped after her final bundle of food and clothes she had received on her last day. The clothes didn't fit her now, and the only things that fit over her pregnant stomach were Chester's t-shirts and some of his jeans. But she had found something unusual among her final group of supplies: a small clear plastic pill bottle, labeled simply with BL/ind: The Aftermath is Secondary. The instructions on the back of the bottle were to swallow one pill each day, but there was no other information—no drug facts, no surgeon's warning, no side effects.

After a long discussion, Chester and Amy had decided it wasn't safe for her to take them—they had no idea what their effect on Amy's pregnant body might be. But Chester had taken a few after he hurt his hand at work, and he'd told her they worked incredibly well. Amy wasn't so sure—Chester had acted abnormally for the next couple days, compliant and tired, almost uninterested in everything. It wore off, and he hadn't had a need to try them again, even though he began to receive them in his payroll bundle, too.

Those pills had begun to appear on the television recently, too. Quick advertisements asking "Have you taken your pills today?" flashed in between shows, as well as cartoons and news segments talking about the 'new miracle pill' that Better Living scientists had discovered.

Amy was beginning to wonder about Better Living's pushiness pertaining to not only the pills, but the utter compliance they required to the law. It seemed like every day they came out with a new, nearly meaningless rule for society with a disproportionately harsh punishment: being out alone on the streets after 10:00 PM was forbidden, playing or listening to rock music was forbidden, entering the Mojave Desert was forbidden. And the people _listened. _Many were putting all of their faith in the company, trusting blindly that it would do what was best for them. Amy thought she had a little more sense than them—at least she still had her own mind.

Regardless, Chester still worked for Better Living, and technically, Amy did, too. She didn't have to trust them explicitly; she just had to pretend to.

"Darling, I'm home!" Chester's voice rang through the apartment, startling Amy out of her thoughts. She peered over the back of the couch to watch him quickly shed his coat and make his way over to her, smiling.

"Hey, Chazy," she grinned. "How was your morning?"

"Would've been better if I was with you," he teased, flopping down onto the couch next to her. He reached over and embraced her lightly, kissing her forehead. "But it was fine. We got most of the structuring for the fifth floor done; we can probably finish it off this afternoon. How are you?"

"The baby's being active again," she laughed.

Chester grinned and laid a hand on her stomach. "I bet it'll be a soccer player when it grows up," he chuckled. Amy felt a hard jab on the inside of her abdomen, as if the baby was agreeing with the statement. Chester smiled, but Amy's small wince didn't go unnoticed.

He frowned and leaned down. "Baby," he said seriously, "you can kick as much as you want when you get out of there, but right now, you need to hold off a bit. Your mom's being very nice and carrying you around, but it hurts her sometimes, so calm down, okay?"

His speech set off a small flurry of kicks, and Amy gulped, wrapping her arms around her stomach. "I think it just likes your voice," she said weakly.

Chester frowned, looking deflated. "I'll be quiet, then," he murmured.

"No, no, that's not what I meant," she protested. "It doesn't hurt that much—" her words were cut off in another wince, and she gasped.

"It obviously hurts that much," Chester said, watching her worriedly.

"Well, the baby's not the only one who likes its' daddy's voice," she murmured, looking up at him from under her eyelashes. "I'm not gonna put a gag order on you while you're around me, Chester—I'd miss you far too much."

"But if it hurts you like that…" he gestured helplessly.

"You worry about me way more than you need to," she giggled. "It's sweet, but I'll be fine. It'll all be worth it in the end."

"When we're a real family," he whispered, pulling her closer.

"I can't wait." Amy leaned her head on his shoulder, looking up at him with wide, frosty blue eyes. "What do you think it will be like?"

"Well, I'm not sure what gender it'll be, but I hope it'll have your eyes," he murmured.

She smiled gently. "As long as it gets your voice."

The peaceful moment was broken by Chester's phone going off loudly, blasting a tune from his pocket. He frowned and glanced down at it. "I've got to go back, Ames," he said regretfully.

"Have a good afternoon," she smiled. "Stay safe."

"Love you."

"Love you too."

Chester waved to her as he opened the door, stepping out into the chilly hallway again. He knew he didn't need to worry about Amy as much as he did—she was an independent girl, and she'd never needed to rely on anyone before. But still, he couldn't help but want to make sure she stayed safe during the pregnancy. Not only was it a danger to her health, but if anyone ever found out…

They wouldn't. He knew that well. The pair had gone to every extreme to make sure that all three of them would come out of the situation completely fine. They'd told no one that Amy was pregnant, and no one was going to know.

Chester neared the now-familiar construction site once again, quickly finding Tom, Mark and Travis again at the same place he had left them. They were just throwing away the remains of their lunch as he located them, sitting atop one of the fifth-floor wooden beams.

"Hey, lover boy!" Travis shouted, his mouth full.

"You and Amy have fun?" Tom added.

Chester nodded, grinning. He grabbed a hammer and began to work, glancing over at Mark. "What's up with you?"

"Not much," Mark mumbled, staring into his lap. He twisted his hands together nervously. "Just, you know, work."

"Dude, what's wrong?" Travis asked.

"Nothing," Chester's friend muttered. "I'll just—work."

Mark was acting weird all afternoon, but it was more noticeable than it was in the morning. Chester suspected it was because he was attuned to his friend's odd behavior, whereas he hadn't paid attention to it that morning. He decided that if Mark wanted to tell him, he would, but the older man seemed pretty quiet about it. It seemed like he was having some sort of internal debate throughout the day, judging by his constantly fluctuating expression and mood while he worked. Travis and Tom worked to get the reason for his strange mood out of him, but Mark remained silent.

At four o'clock exactly, a loud bell pierced the air, signaling to the workers that their day was over. Tom and Travis sprinted off, yelling over their shoulders "See you tomorrow!" at their fellow workers. Chester began to follow them, but Mark shouted, "Hold up, Chester!"

The teenager paused, looking back at the man. "Hey, Mark," he called. "What's up?"

Mark caught up to him, huffing from his small sprint. "I need to tell you something," he said in a low voice.

"Shoot," Chester said, leaning in curiously.

The man glanced around them at the flow of people surrounding the pair, watching the hundreds of workers walk past them. "Not here," he hissed. "It's too crowded."

Mark led Chester to the back of the construction site, ducking behind a cement pillar and pulling the younger boy with him. "There's no one back here, is there?" he whispered cautiously.

"I don't think so," Chester said, growing impatient. "What is it?"

After one last glance around the area to make sure, Mark turned back to Chester, staring him in the eye. "Ches," he said, "I don't know what illegal activity you and Amy are planning up in your apartment, but Better Living Industries knows about it."


	20. We'll Be Halfway to Anywhere

**Wow, thank you all _so much _for all the reviews last chapter 3 I always love knowing people enjoy my writing!**

**I won't make this too long, because based on the reaction to last chapter's end, you guys all want to know what happens to poor Amy and Chaz. So without further adieu...**

CHAPTER 20: WE'LL BE HALFWAY TO ANYWHERE

October 13, 2013

New World Plaza, Battery City, California

4:32 PM

Chester gawked at his friend, sure he had misheard Mark. "What—what do you mean?" he gasped.

"It's a long story," the older man sighed. "But I'll try to explain all of it…

"Travis, Tom and I just moved into our new apartment, the building we just finished with last week, remember? Well, it turns out the other apartment on our floor belongs to one of those creepy white-suit policemen Better Living employs. Poor guy's a total scatterbrain—drops things left and right. Well, this morning as I was leaving, I noticed this in front of his front door." Mark reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a crumpled, folded piece of paper. "I thought it was just another one of his mission print-outs—he drops a lot of those—and it was, but…" he gulped. "Just read it, Chaz."

Chester reached for the small square and unfolded it. The page was filled with small black text. At the top of the page was the heading _To: Draculoid #163, From: Exterminator Korse._

"Exterminator Korse?" Chester mumbled, looking up at Mark. "Who's that?"

"It doesn't matter. Keep reading," his friend urged him.

The body of the message started: _Draculoid Unit #16A is to be deployed to Hawthorne Towers, Building 3 Apartment 10B on October 13, 2013 at 1700 hours. Residents Chester Charles Bennington and Amy Lynn Lee are in possible violation of Section 5, Paragraph 2 Part D of Better Living Industries law._

"No," Chester gasped, nearly dropping the paper. There was still more text underneath the paragraph to read, but suddenly, he didn't want to know what the rest said.

But a morbid curiosity overtook him, and he continued.

_License to arrest Bennington (male, age 18, Caucasian, stature 5' 10", attached image A.) Violation may carry a sentence of up to 30 years in reformation facility. If found to be in violation of above section, license to exterminate Lee (female, age 17, Caucasian, stature 5' 3.5", attached image B.)_

_**License to exterminate Lee.**_

Chester's throat seized up, and suddenly he couldn't breathe, much less speak. Those four words rolled around in his mind, violent, terrifying. _License to exterminate Lee. _They had a legal license to kill Amy, and with her, their unborn child.

He tried to block the images, but they pushed past his mental barriers, bright, vivid, almost _real. _Himself, restrained by Draculoids holding onto his arms, helpless in their strong grip. Completely unable to help as they pushed a sobbing Amy to her knees, as they wrenched her arms behind her back, as they trained one of the cold, white guns on his fiancée's temple. As her ice-blue eyes met his one last time. As she mouthed 'I love you.'

As the Draculoid pulled the trigger.

The Amy in Chester's mind slumped over, warm, red blood spilling from the round hole in her forehead, her life spilling onto the floor of their apartment. Her beautiful face was soaked with red liquid, seeping into her hair, her clothes, staining her stomach.

His girlfriend, dead. His baby, dead. His life gone.

A strangled, inhuman roar tore itself from Chester's throat. He threw the paper to the ground and brought his work boot down on it heavily.

"No! It won't happen! I won't let it!" he exclaimed.

"They're coming tonight, Chester," Mark said grimly.

"Then I'll hide them," Chester growled. "I'll save them. _I will save them._"

Mark watched the younger man for a minute, and then murmured "Good luck. Be careful."

"And you," Chester whispered. "Say goodbye to Tom and Travis for me."

With that, the brunette boy turned around and ran, sprinting down the crowded sidewalk and wending his way between bodies as he ran. 1700 hours…that was five o'clock. It was nearly five now. They had fifteen minutes—if that.

Amy looked up from the couch, confused, as Chester burst through the door frantically. "Get up," he gasped, running for their bedroom. The sounds of banging drawers ensued.

"What? Chaz, what's going on?" Amy questioned. She slowly rose from the couch, groaning as her back stretched.

"No time." A black backpack flew out of the room and landed at her feet. "Pack as much as you can in that bag. Strictly the essentials. That's the only thing you can carry."

"But…"

"Amy, please!" Chester poked his head out of the doorway and caught her eye. Written plainly across his face was an expression she hadn't expected to see there: fear. His entire face was a mask of fear.

"Please, love," he begged, his voice strained. "I promise I'll explain. But you have to trust me, Amy."

The young girl gulped and steeled her nerve. She bent down and picked up the backpack.

Chester relaxed. "Thank you."

The pair worked in silence for nearly ten minutes, Chester dashing and Amy waddling around the apartment to grab anything they thought they needed. Amy reentered the bedroom after emptying their kitchen cabinet to find Chester raiding the closet, pulling on as many pairs of jeans as he could fit over each other.

"No room in the bag," he panted in response to her querying look.

"But we've got suitcases!" she exclaimed.

"We have to blend in on the street," he responded. He lifted a hooded sweatshirt from the rack and threw it at Amy. "We can't look like we're running away! Plus, we have to cover _that._" He gestured to her swollen stomach.

_What the fuck was going on? _Amy began to tug sweatshirt after sweatshirt over her head, bulking up the rest of her body so it hid her pregnant belly. "Chester, what happened at work?" she gasped out as she yanked the last one over her head.

Her fiancé stepped out of the closet, lugging a massive backpack and his guitar case behind him. He dropped them on the floor and stepped towards Amy, wrapping his favorite red checkered shirt around her shoulders. She looked up at him curiously as she slid her arms into the sleeves.

"Better Living found out," Chester murmured, pulling her shirt tight around her. He smoothed down her hair and pressed a kiss to her forehead, then pulled away, handing her the backpack. "They're coming. We have to get out _now, _and probably never come back."

He waited for the inevitable breakdown, the freak-out, the terrified screams, but Amy simply blinked twice and pulled the backpack onto her shoulders. "When are they coming?" she asked quietly, already swiftly moving towards the door.

"Five o'clock," he murmured.

"You better explain everything when we get out," Amy said.

Chester threw open the door, nearly running to the elevator and hammering the down button. "Shit, c'mon!" he muttered as the small round button didn't light up. "Please wait," a voice chimed.

"They're probably in there, Chaz! We have to take the stairs!" Amy yelled.

"The stairs will take twice as long!" he protested desperately.

"It's either that or wait for them to catch us here! We'll have to risk it!"

She was right, of course—Chester's mind was clouded by a haze of fear and uncertainty. He threw open the door to the emergency exit and ushered Amy into the stairwell, slamming it closed behind the pair with a bang.

"Where are we going?" Amy asked, frantic as they rushed down the stairs.

"We'll figure that out later," Chester said grimly. "Just go!"

In the lobby, Draculoid #163 stood with the other four policemen in Unit #16A as the elevator slid open in front of them. He waved a pleasant goodbye to the cowering receptionist who sat, shaking, behind the counter. The mission they were performing that night was slightly out of the ordinary—usually they detained citizens with only orders to arrest or occasionally destroy possessions. This, though, was a serious infraction of Better Living Law. His unit had been given orders to fire on sight at target B. Teenage debauchery and parenting would not be allowed in a perfect society.

He checked his pager again for the images of targets A and B, seemingly a teenage couple living in the apartment. Two young faces smiled up at him. They sparked a foreign emotion in his brain, something he hadn't felt in ages. Happiness. Love.

But no, target B was a threat to society. She must be exterminated. Draculoid #163 shook his head, clearing his face of any lingering emotion, and snapped his mask over his head.

The elevator doors slid open in front of them with a pleasant _ding. _The hallway was quiet, with three doors to apartments leading away from the small landing. The area glowed with cold, fluorescent light. Apartment 10B was directly in front of him, the door firmly closed.

The unit leader, Draculoid #161, stepped forward and raised a white-gloved fist to the door, tapping twice with his knuckles. There was no response.

"We are representatives of Better Living Industries," he intoned. "You will be given ten seconds to open the door."

Still, the inhabitants gave no response.

Draculoid #161 smiled wickedly beneath his latex mask and raised one leg, aiming his foot at the lock on the right side of the door. It broke open cleanly with one kick.

"V formation," he muttered, and Draculoid #163 fanned out to flank the leader on the right side. Draculoid #162 mirrored him on the left, while #164 and #165 brought up the rear. The head Draculoid glanced back at the rest of his unit, checking to make sure the rest had followed his instructions, before pushing the door open.

The small apartment was in a state of disarray. Doors swung open, cabinets raided and empty, and clothes and food lay abandoned on the floor. The lights were still turned on.

Confidently, Draculoid Unit #16A stormed the apartment, checking each room carefully. But with each empty space, their brazen confidence lessened. This had never happened before. They entered, arrested and left. Their victims were brainwashed and willing, usually under the influence of Better Living's miracle pills. But Targets A and B weren't anywhere they looked.

_The bedroom, _Draculoid #161 reasoned as his squad stormed the final room at the end of the hallway, rayguns drawn. "Show yourselves!" he ordered forcefully.

But the apartment was completely empty.

At the moment Draculoid Unit #16A realized they may have just failed their first assignment _ever, _Targets A and B had just reached the streets of Battery City and were doing their best to flow with the heavy post-work crowd. Their hands tightly intertwined, they managed to lose themselves in the mass of people, letting themselves be swept down streets and side alleys until they were deposited, like leaves in a storm drain, in front of the end of Battery City's recolonized area. Past that point was all burned-out buildings and acid-soaked wasteland.

"We can stop for now," Chester panted, hunching over with his hands on his knees.

Amy shivered and sunk to the sidewalk. It had taken all her strength and energy to jog those ten blocks. After being cooped up in a small apartment for two months with no physical activity, she was in no shape to make such a daring maneuver.

"What now?" she gasped, completely devoid of breath.

"Uh…well…" Chester fumbled for a response. "The important part was getting you and the baby out alive. I didn't really plan past that point…we can't go back there, they'll have BL/ind monitoring it twenty-four-seven in case we try to return. We have to find shelter…"

"First, explain everything," she requested quietly. Her blue eyes bored into his own, begging an answer.

So he did, starting his story from the moment he left her at noon, and telling her every event up until the moment he burst back through the apartment door. The paper with the memo for his arrest and her 'extermination' was passed to her sometime about halfway through the story, and she read it with wide eyes, glancing between the sheet and him. He finished his tale with "somebody must have found out, but I didn't tell anyone."

"I didn't either," Amy murmured. "Not even Adie. I haven't talked to anyone but you since I said goodbye to Sharon on—" she broke off, gasping.

"What?" Chester asked urgently.

She shook her head slowly. "I told Sharon," she whispered. "She was the only one. I thought I could trust her!"

Tears began to roll down her face, and Chester pulled her into a tight embrace, cradling her fragile body with his own. "How c-could I have b-been so _stupid?_" she sobbed.

"It's alright, darling," he murmured, smoothing down her black hair comfortingly. "This just shows that we can't trust anyone but each other from now on. We've got to stick together, Amy. We're all that we've got."

"We can't live this way!" she protested.

"We'll figure something out," he reassured her. "We've made it this far already! We just have to find food and shelter somewhere out _there…_" his voice trailed off as they both glanced out into the demolished, barren wasteland of outer Los Angeles.

"There's no food out there," Amy whispered.

"Then we find someone who _has _food," Chester replied grimly.

They didn't sleep that night. Instead, they stayed up together, discussing all of their options. But the more they talked, the more hopeless they became. There were precious few places in the city where there was still decent shelter that wasn't controlled by BL/ind, and there was even less food. Amy was just about ready to give up by the third hour they stayed up talking.

"I've just killed us both," she whispered, her head in her hands. "I'm so sorry, Chester. This is all my fault."

"We're not giving up!" he protested forcefully. But he was on the edge of doing just that, and they both knew it. "There's got to be something, some_one _we can go to…"

The pair sank into a heavy silence for a moment, before Chester shot up, his face lighting up. "Adrienne," he breathed.

"What about her?" Amy asked dully.

"She lives out at the college, right?"

She nodded. "She got a BL/ind job—she works at a…" and then she got it, and she was standing up too, shouldering her backpack. "At a credit store!" she gasped. "She controls food!"

Amy and Chester turned to look at each other, their faces blossoming into identical expressions of hope and excitement. "How far is Adie's college?" Chester asked frantically.

"Five miles west," Amy answered. "We must have walked a mile last night, so we could make it in two hours."

"Perfect!" Chester breathed. He caught Amy up in an ecstatic hug, both of them cheering with excitement and renewed life. They had a purpose again—a life, a way out.

They were going to be fine.

The long, slow trek though the wasted and dark outer shell of Los Angeles was depressing, but it couldn't bring the couple's happy mood down too much. They walked through the broken streets hand-in-hand, impervious to the disaster strewn around them. They were survivors.

Finally, the familiar building on the cliff rose out of the horizon, and Amy smiled, squeezing Chester's hand tightly. "Look," she whispered. "We made it."

As they neared the college, they could see that the entire above-ground part was burned out, the metal frame the only part of the building still standing. There was seemingly no activity around the area.

"There were only six survivors out here, right?" Chester murmured.

"As far as Adie knew," Amy answered. "I think a few more moved out here afterwards, cause they're starting some sort of small community for college students. BL/ind sent one of their men out to monitor it, so we'll have to be careful…"

"What about Adie? What's she doing, exactly?"

They had reached the bottom of the hill. A steep road wended its way up the side of the grassy mountain, leading to the burned-out structure at the top. The cliff face on the other side was barely visible through the metal girders and flying cinders.

"They put Adie in charge of the Better Living store and food distribution for the college area," Amy explained. "She's got a pretty important position—almost everyone else is getting repair or office jobs. They repaired a 7/11 for her to run."

"We're not gonna get her in trouble, are we?" Chester asked nervously.

She sighed. "If we do, we'll leave. I hope we won't."

They avoided the college once they reached the top of the hill. Amy tugged the hood on one of her sweatshirts up, shielding her face from anyone who might be looking for the pair, and made her way to the right of the burned building to where a tiny spot of light stood out against the dark sky.

"That's got to be the store," she muttered. "She said it was right next to the college."

"I'll go in first," Chester volunteered.

Amy shook her head. "It has to be me. She doesn't know you well enough-if there's someone else in there, she won't be able to cover for you."

Chester's strong instincts of protection for his fiancée were screaming out against her decision, but he knew she was right. Adrienne was _her _sister, after all.

"Be careful," he murmured. "I'll be right behind you."

She smiled up at him softly and kissed him, light but long. Her warm mouth pressed against his with a sense of urgency.

"We'll be fine," she whispered against his lips. "You'll see."

"As long as we're together," he replied huskily.

"As long as we're together."

Amy pulled away, leaving one of her hands tangled in his, and pushed open the glass door to the store. A bell chimed pleasantly as they entered. Their eyes flooded with harsh fluorescent light as they stepped inside the small, clean shop.

"Hello?" a female voice called out tiredly, and the familiar face of Adrienne became visible from behind the counter. Her white Better Living apron hung askew and black tendrils of hair had escaped her bun. She wore an exhausted expression as she flipped through a newspaper listlessly.

"Um…hi," Amy answered softly. She moved closer to the counter, dragging Chester with her.

"Can I help you?" Adrienne asked boredly.

Amy inhaled heavily. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"Huh?" The older woman glanced up, confused. The newspaper dropped to the counter with a thud. An expression of shock and disbelief spread over her face.

"Ames?" she whispered incredulously.

"Hi, Adie," Amy whispered.

The woman practically vaulted the counter, shoving through the partition and embracing her sister in a tight, protective hug. "Jesus, Amy, I thought I'd never see you again!" she gasped.

"We're fine, we're fine," Amy laughed. "Me and Chester both. We just need somewhere to stay."

Adrienne pulled back, smiling at Chester quickly and then shooting a confused glance at her younger sister. "I thought you had jobs in the city," she questioned.

Amy sighed. "_Had _being the operative word."

"But what happened?" the older woman asked.

"What would you do if I told you you're going to be an aunt?"

Adrienne gawked at the pair, shocked and unsure what to say. She was obviously unable to speak. However, her approval became clear when she pulled both of them into another hug.

"Jesus, Ames," she murmured. "I leave you alone for six months, and I get _this._"

"But BL/ind found out," Chester said grimly.

Adrienne frowned. "Is that why you're here? They kicked you out of your jobs?"

"More than that," the boy frowned. "I've got an arrest warrant, and Amy…"

"They want me exterminated," the girl shrugged.

The older woman swore under her breath. "Well, you'll have to stay here, then! You can't go in the college—too many people—but there's a back room in here I use for storage, and there's more than enough food and shit. Stay here as long as you need to. We'll figure something out."

"Aww, Adie…" Amy whispered. "Are you sure?"

Adrienne reached up and pushed a strand of black hair out of Amy's face. "A few months before Day Zero, Dad came to visit me," she murmured. "He made me promise that whatever happened to him and your mom, I'd always protect you. I promised him. Now it's time to fulfill that promise."

At this point, both girls were on the verge of tears. Chester felt it was his duty to step in and save them from the edge of the tearful breakdown that was surely imminent.

"Thanks, Adrienne," he cut in huskily. "We owe you one."

"Whatever keeps you two safe," she answered.


	21. He Burns my Skin

**First of all: Congratulations Frank and Jamia omg I'm so happy for you 3**

**Second: I am a fucking prophet, I predicted that x333**

**Third: New chapter is here and I love it because ACTION I love writing action scenes**

**kthnksreviewplzbai**

CHAPTER 21: HE BURNS MY SKIN, NEVERMIND ABOUT THE SHAPE I'M IN

October 30, 2013

California

7:22 PM

He was running.

He didn't know where, and really, it didn't matter. He sprinted ahead, legs burning in protest, arms pumping at rapid-fire speed, breath heaving in and out of his lungs in bursts and gasps. It wasn't that he was running _to _somewhere—he was running _from _them.

Five Draculoids, chasing him down. They'd already got his three friends—they were lying on the dirty street, stunned or dead he didn't know. He was the only one left.

Keep going. Ten steps, turn right. Sprint the alley—it's too short, make another turn. Left this time. Just run, run, run. Keep running.

_Keep running._

But he couldn't keep running, there was a wall. The alley was a dead end. Quick, backtrack—turn around—get out of here! The first Draculoid was turning the corner. He couldn't get out. He was trapped.

The gun was out, pointed straight at his temple. He knew that kind of gun. It didn't shoot bullets. The closest thing he could compare it to were lasers, white-hot and dangerous. Deadly.

The Drac released the safety, smiling cruelly. "Time to say goodnight," he hissed.

A flash of light, and he could _see _it, white beam, shot straight at him, piercing through his mind—

"Gerard! _Gerard!_"

The black-haired boy sat straight up in bed, his eyes flying open in shock. Frank was leaning over him, one hand on his shoulder and staring down with wide, concerned eyes.

"Seven-thirty," his friend told him. "You're on morning shift. The alarm went off, but you weren't waking up…"

"Bad dream," Gerard gasped. He fell back onto the cool pillow, eyes wide open and staring at the bare ceiling.

Frank groaned. "_Again? _Same one?"

The older boy nodded weakly. "It's really getting old," he muttered. _But it never gets better._

He lifted himself out of the bed with difficulty, yawning and stretching his hands over his head. The night terrors were regular by now, there during the night more often than not. And it was always the same. The Draculoids took Ray down first, the Mikey, then Frank, as they ran through the maze-like streets of Battery City. Gerard ran alone for nearly five minutes before he landed, trapped, in that dead-end alley. Sometimes he woke up before the Draculoid could actually pull the trigger, but today had been one of the worse days. He could nearly feel the shining ray piercing his forehead.

A loud knock sounded on the door as Frank flopped back onto his mattress, pulling the covers over his head to drown out the noise as he tried to fall back asleep. "Gerard!" Mike D's voice shouted. "You up?"

"Yeah," the younger boy groaned, pulling a black t-shirt over his head.

"It's you, me and Rob today. Come down when you're ready."

"Okay!" Gerard called out sleepily. He heard Mike's heavy footsteps move away down the metal catwalk, presumably to check on Rob, before sliding his old pair of dust-caked jeans on and running a hand through his scruffy jet-black hair.

"Your roots are showing," Frank mumbled, his eyes just visible over the top of the blanket.

Gerard stuck his tongue out. "I'll tell Billie to steal some more hair dye for me from Battery City tomorrow."

"It was banned, remember?" his friend reminded him. "No individualism. They don't want you to express creativity."

"Fuck that," he grumbled. "And fuck BL/ind for ruining my look."

With one last swear, Gerard pulled on his heavy combat boots and waved goodbye to Frank. The rubber soles of his beat-up Doc Martens clanged against the metal ladder as he climbed down to the main floor where Mike D and Rob waited by the door.

"Don't make us late, _Poison_!" Rob called out jokingly.

"Coming, coming!" Gerard jumped the last three steps of the ladder, landing on the concrete floor with a _thud. _He was sprinting across the long room the moment his feet hit the ground.

Mike laughed and threw open the doors, letting warm sunshine stream into the darkened room. He led the trio out of their home and to the old Trans-Am they used for radio broadcast trips.

"Alright, Poison, Wolf," Mike said, turning to them. "The piercings and tattoo ban. That's pretty much all we've got to talk about…"

"And hair dye," Gerard added angrily.

The older man nodded. "And hair dye."

"I'm still pissed about that," Gerard muttered to Rob as they piled into the back of the Trans-Am.

"I'm sure we can find more," his friend soothed. "They can't have taken _all _the black hair dye from Battery City…"

"Let's hope," the boy grumbled.

The three were fully awake by the time they reached the motel, due in part to the desert's bright scenery and in part to the loud rock CD from Mike S's collection that they were blasting through the stereo. The Asian emcee had the biggest record collection most of them had ever seen, and the discs were constantly playing somewhere or other in the warehouse or in one of the cars. Ever since the alternative station was shut down, they'd been depending on Xero's live practices and Mike S's CDs for their music fix.

The motel rose out of the horizon quickly, and they were in and out of the building in fifteen minutes. The radio show wasn't long, only ten minutes of quick jabber about BL/ind's oppressive new laws and how they'd affect individualism. It didn't really matter what they discussed as long as it kept the citizens of Battery City sharp and thoughtful. The show only needed to be an alternative to the constant lies. The rest of the Killjoys still weren't awake by the time they got back, as was usual—it was normal for them to sleep until ten o'clock if they weren't the poor bastards with the morning shift on that day.

"I'm going back to sleep," Mike yawned, stretching his arms over his head. "I can fit a couple more hours in before I have to do anything, right?"

Rob checked his watch. "An hour, at best," he laughed.

"Still good," he groaned as he made his way over to the ladder. "Goodnight…"

Gerard grinned and made his way over to the nearly-gone pile of food supplies. "We've gotta go back into Battery City tomorrow," he announced. "Think I could tag along with Billie, Mike and Tré?"

"Don't see why not," the brunette man shrugged.

"I'm still pissed about the hair dye thing," the younger boy grumbled as he grabbed a package of food so crushed and dirty that he couldn't read the label anymore. He ripped it open and groaned in disappointment.

"What'd you get?" Rob asked curiously.

"Fucking dried tomatoes," he muttered. "Seriously, who comes up with these things?"

"Ooh, harsh," the drummer laughed. "Those suck, man. I think they made Phoenix puke a couple weeks ago."

"Gah!" Gerard's face turned queasy, and he dropped the packet, turning away in disgust.

"That's the only breakfast you get, remember?" Rob called out,

Gerard rolled his eyes. "I know, I know," he answered. Because of the questionable nature of the food they found in the city, the rule with the Killjoys was that for each meal, they had to stick with whatever food they opened—they couldn't put it back. If they were hungry enough, they ate it. If not, they could chuck it and go hungry.

"Can I have them?" Rob called after Gerard as he walked back towards the TV.

The younger boy gave a visible shudder. "If you want them, they're yours," he called out. "Good luck eating them…"

Rob happily descended on the abandoned food, the sounds of his eating reaching Gerard's ears almost halfway across the room. He flipped on the TV, trying to ignore the vicious growling of his own stomach, and concentrated on the show.

"Temperatures are cooling down with the near of winter—lows will reach forty degrees in the desert," the young Asian woman, familiar by now for performing all of BL/ind's weather reports and commercials, said. "As always, Battery City remains at a pleasant seventy degrees."

"She's lying," Rob commented, coming up behind Gerard. "It was fucking freezing when I was there last week."

"That's what they hired her to do—tell lies," Gerard responded grimly.

Both turned their attention back to the TV at the newscaster's next words, though. Gerard's mouth fell open, sure he had misheard, but the weather report continued with the odd statement.

"Scientists are predicting rain over the next couple of days," she repeated. This statement was news within itself—there hadn't been any rain since the acidic downpour on Day Zero. But what she said next was the shocking and disturbing part of the broadcast.

"Due to unusually high levels of debris and disturbance in the atmosphere due to Day Zero, there is a high possibility of acid rain similar to the kid we experienced last December. Better Living executives are urging all citizens to take cover and to not leave their place of shelter today."

"Not _more,_" Rob groaned, nearly dropping his breakfast. "Please, God, the first time was bad enough…"

"We have to tell Billie," Gerard exclaimed.

"Tell me what?" The sound of feet clanking down the metal ladder reached Gerard and Rob's ears a moment too late, and Billie stood over them with a curious and suspicious look on his face.

Gerard pointed to the TV. "Acid rain again," he muttered.

Billie turned pale. "When?"

"Later today," Rob informed the head Killjoy.

Suddenly, Billie was all authority, shouting to the others to wake everyone up as he dashed out the front doors of the warehouse. Gerard and Rob exchanged a confused glance and a shrug before following his instructions.

"You take left, I'll take right," Gerard offered at the top of the ladder. Rob nodded before sprinting off down the hallway.

"Mike? Dude?" the boy called tentatively, knocking on the first door on the right. He knew the older man would be grouchy that he was being woken so early after he had managed to get some more rest, but what Billie told him to do, he did.

"Go away, Gerard," he heard a groan from inside the room.

"I can't," the younger shouted regretfully. "Everyone's got to get up, Billie's orders."

He faintly heard Mike mutter something like 'fucking Armstrong,' but then a box spring creaked and a light switched on, telling Gerard he'd achieved his goal. He moved down the rest of the hallway to rouse Tré, Frank and Ray, each moaning and cursing both him and Billie before shouting that they'd be out in a minute. Rob reached the other end of the hallway a moment after him, slapping him a tired high-five.

"Where's Billie, anyway?" Mike D. yawned, joining the two and running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair.

"He ran outside when we told him about the rain," Rob shrugged.

Mike groaned. "The cars. That's what he's doing. We'll have to get them somewhere safe, last time there was acid rain the car we first came out here in literally disintegrated…"

"Shit," Gerard breathed.

"I bet that's why he wants everyone up," the older man continued. "We're probably moving the cars somewhere."

"At least BL/ind will keep their fucking Draculoids in Battery City cause of the rain," Rob muttered.

Mike sighed. "I guess we should count our blessings."

It didn't take long for the rest of the Killjoys to assemble, as an air of urgency had hung over Gerard and Rob as they roused their friends. Soon, all twelve were gathered in the bright morning sunshine outside of the warehouse.

"Here's what we know," Billie announced. "The base holds up fine. Whatever it's made of, that shit doesn't crumble under acid rain, so we should stay in there. The motel and the station are probably sturdy, too, so in case of emergency we can stay there if we get caught. But the cars completely die if we leave them out—and so do we."

"We had the van under the motel awning last time and it's fine," Joe offered.

Billie nodded. "That's good. The van's the most important, so it'll go there."

"But the Trans Am…" Gerard cast a long glance over the vehicle that he'd so lovingly decorated with the massive black spider splayed over its hood.

"We'll find somewhere for the Trans Am, don't worry," Billie grinned. "But now we've gotta get the vehicles to the motel, make an emergency broadcast…and then take shelter there till it's over."

Various groans and protests arose at the leader's words, and Billie sighed. "I know, I know—it's bullshit. But it's the only way we can all stay safe…"

"We don't _all _have to go, do we?" Ray exclaimed.

"Well, whose turn was it to do the broadcast this afternoon?" At this, Frank, Mikey and Billie raised their hands.

"Then we need two others to come for backup in case we split up. Any volunteers?"

Mutters and joking whispers of "no, _you _do it," were passed among the reluctant Killjoys, while Billie, Frank and Mikey stood awkwardly by the vehicles. Finally, Gerard and Ray stepped forward.

"Thanks, guys." Billie smiled gratefully. "Everyone else, stay in the warehouse no matter what. If we're not back and it starts pouring, don't look for us. We _will _come back."

"This is too dangerous, Billie," Mike piped up. "Isn't there another way?"

"'Fraid not, Dirnt," Billie sighed. "Wish us luck."

There was an ominous air as the six climbed into the vehicles. Gerard had a weird feeling that either something was going to change by the time they came back, or they wouldn't be coming back. Things with the Killjoys had been pleasantly routine and stable since their first encounter with the Draculoids, with no recruits and only a few brushes with BL/ind and their creepily emotionless soldiers. Later, though, he doubted he could ever have predicted what was coming next.

Things were about to change for the Killjoys…_again._

"Are we really gonna have to stay there for the whole day?" Mikey groaned from the backseat of the Trans Am.

"It's only gonna be a few hours," Billie promised. "We'll be home as soon as the rain ends. Think of it like camping out or something."

"In a creepy, abandoned, motel. A freezing-cold motel that could be overrun with Draculoids at any moment."

"Basically."

Mikey frowned and muttered something under his breath, toying with the red raygun lying in his lap absently. They'd brought four of the five weapons captured from the Draculoids along with them. Mikey had the red one, Frank had the green one, Ray the blue, and Gerard held the yellow one, which had unofficially become his after he painted it. Somewhere along the line, the device had stopped being so scary and had become familiar…a friend, even. The rayguns were actually really cool. Mike D, Phoenix, and Mikey, the most technically knowledgeable of the Killjoys, had been running experiments on the fifth gun, taking it apart and studying the components to try and see how BL/ind had made the futuristic weapon. All they could figure out so far was that BL/ind had some really smart technicians, access to some very dangerous chemicals and other radioactive materials, they'd figured out how to control plasma rays…and the Killjoys were completely out of their depth. They had five of the guns to protect themselves, but it was barely enough for twelve men. And who knows what they would come out with next? Those things already far surpassed any regular bullet gun the men had seen, and if the company had access to this kind of technology…

For now, the rayguns would have to do. And they actually did just fine. The Killjoys had all practiced with the guns, taking turns shooting at targets painted on the wrecked convertible outside of the warehouse. Although Gerard had never really been able to recreate the perfect shot he'd executed when saving Frank's life, it was commonly agreed upon by all the Killjoys that he was definitely the best shot in the group. He wasn't sure if this made him proud or scared.

"Where are we putting the Trans Am?" Mikey asked Billie.

Billie sighed. "I was thinking about that…the gas station might he our best bet. I'm not sure if it'll work too well but it's all that I've got."

"The gas station's like miles away!" Gerard protested.

"Do you _want _this car to dissolve?" the leader shot back.

The younger Killjoy groaned, but he had to agree.

Gerard and Ray stayed in the car, listening to the radio for any weather announcements as the other three friends broadcasted their temporary absence to the airwaves. Rain was predicted to start in Battery City in a little less than half an hour, possibly sooner for surrounding areas. They'd have to rush to get the Trans Am to safety or risk getting caught in the downpour.

"We're cutting this too fucking close," Gerard sighed, swinging open the car door and hopping out. He stretched his arms over his head gratefully.

"Aw, we'll be fine, Gee," Ray promised. "You worry too much."

Gerard smirked. It was probably true—but then, it was hard not to worry about stuff in the situation they were in.

Something cold and wet fell onto his cheek, and Gerard moved a hand up to feel it. His skin hurt where it had impacted.

"What was that?" he muttered, glancing up into the suddenly gray sky. There was nothing there but rainclouds.

Shit. _Rainclouds._

"Fuck!" Gerard yelled, and threw himself into the Trans Am, revving the engine. "Ray, get the fuck inside!"

"But the van!" Ray gestured helplessly.

"I'll deal with the van. Just _go!_"

Ray glanced back at his friend, worried, as he sprinted towards the front door. Gerard was pulling the Trans Am under the front awning and running back out for the van, but the rain was beginning in earnest now, and already he could see the boy's skin beginning to redden from the acid. He threw himself into the can and sat in the driver's seat, shivering, as the skies began to pour down.

"_Gerard!_" Ray screamed, the sound somewhere between a growl and a shout. He started towards the white vehicle, determined to help his friend, but Gerard pointed towards the motel and mouthed a swear at Ray.

"I'll be in here in a minute!" he shouted, the sound just audible though the can. Ray nodded and turned back to the safe building.

It was only once he was inside the lobby that he remembered Gerard didn't have the keys.

"Ray?" Mikey gasped, spinning around. Frank desperately covered for him on the radio, cutting in with "-gun. What was that about a raygun, Kobra?" He shot the younger boy a fierce, angry look, silently reprimanding him for letting one of their real names slip, a dangerous mistake.

But in that moment, Ray couldn't really care. "Gerard," he gasped. "In the van. Trapped. Rain started."

Mikey and Frank gasped and dashed for the windows, Billie hastily spitting out "Stay safe—Killjoys, make some noise!" before joining them.

"He'll die out there!" Mikey moaned, his nose pressed against the glass door. He stared at his brother helplessly.

Billie grimaced. "He's Gerard. He'll figure out what to do."

But Gerard had no ideas. He could barely stay conscious—his face and arms were peppered with burns, small scorch marks on the pale skin wherever the rain had hit. They stung worse than anything he'd ever felt before. And it was freezing cold in the van.

The boy reached out a shaking hand and grabbed Ray's leather jacket from the backseat, wrapping it around himself in an attempt to conserve some of his body heat. He'd realized as soon as he got in the vehicle that he didn't have the keys, but he refused to let Ray go through the pain he had in running through the acid downpour and possibly condemning himself along with Gerard.

Well, now he was trapped in the van, and at least he was the only one. He began to seriously consider another mad dash towards the motel. The can was going to start leaking any moment, if what Billie had aid about what acid did to vehicles was true. He had only a few minutes. Either way, he was going to have to face it again.

Gerard made his decision. He pulled the leather jacket over his head, holding it up with his hands to try and form a tent-like shield for any kind of cover he could get, and ran.

He could hear the rain splattering on the jacket and feel it soaking his jeans, burning his skin, but somehow, his hands and arms weren't affected for the thirty seconds he spent sprinting for the door. He refused to let himself register the pain he felt as he ran. He only concentrated on staying alive.

A few moments later, he collapsed in front of the door, completely spent. His friends rushed to the entrance and threw themselves down next to him.

"Gerard! Dude! Stay conscious!" Frank begged, already tearing off Gerard's acid-soaked shirt regardless of the pain in his palms. "You'll be fine, just get inside!"

"Cold," he shivered, wrapping his raw red arms around his now-bare torso. All over his body, the skin was bright and angry with acid marks. He was an absolute mess.

"Get him in the motel," Billie said gruffly. He stooped down to pick up Ray's leather jacket as Mikey and Frank wrapped their arms around Gerard's shoulders, supporting him and moving him inside. He expected the material to be ragged and hole-riddled, but instead, it was good as new.

"Weird," the leader muttered before following Ray inside.

The rain kept pouring for nearly six hours, but it seemed like six years to the desperate Killjoys. Gerard was passing in and out of consciousness, shivering and muttering incomprehensible sayings. The van was still outside in the rain, but none of them dared to see what it had dissolved into by now. They had no way to contact the rest of their group at the warehouse. And on top of it all, there was still the mystery of the jacket and why it hadn't sustained damage.

Gerard woke at three o'clock, sitting up and glancing around wildly then wincing when he realized the condition of his body. "Wassappening?" he slurred, looking up at his group sleepily.

"You passed out," Frank told him grimly. "When you ran through the rain…Jesus, Gerard, why are you so damn _stupid?_"

"I was trying to help," the older boy muttered. "Is Ray okay?"

"We're all fine," Ray assured him.

The boy sighed in relief. "That's all that matters then, right?"

And for the moment, it was.

Around five o'clock, Mikey glanced out the window. "I think the rain stopped," he exclaimed.

"Seriously?" Frank, Ray and Billie jumped up, Gerard following slowly.

The rain _had _stopped, and the desert was awash with a harsh post-storm gray light. The van stood, weather-battered but still whole, where they'd left it.

"Holy shit!" Ray exclaimed, running for the vehicle. It had certainly taken a beating, but shockingly, it looked mostly fine. He jumped into the front seat and pulled the keys from his pocket, sticking them in the ignition with his fingers crossed. The engine sputtered once, twice, then came to life with a wet growl.

"Unbelievable," Billie murmured, pulling open the passenger door. "Unbelievable."

"Epic!" Frank cheered.

And finally, after six hours, the Killjoys began to head home.

They were barely five minutes away from the warehouse, more than ready for the afternoon to be over, when Gerard called out "Hold up, Frankie. What's that?"

Frank took his foot off the pedal of the Trans Am at his friend's request. Behind him, the van with Billie, Ray and Mikey stopped too.

"What is it?" he asked Gerard, turning to the older boy. But Gerard was already jumping out of the car and sprinting across the still-wet sand.

"There's something moving over here," he called out.

"_What_?" Frank shouted back, running over to his friend. Gerard was bent over, kneeling on the wet sand next to something. No, some_one. _Two someones.

"Who…what the fuck? Is that a _girl?_" Frank gasped, reaching the pair. He stared down into the figure's face—her very feminine young face.

Gerard didn't glance up at him, instead focusing on the smaller figure's face. "Go get Billie!" he shouted, frantically removing his jacket and wrapping it around the girl's shoulders.

"But Gerard…" he protested.

"She asked to talk to him. Go, Frank, _now!_" Gerard yelled. "Fuck it, they're dying!"

"What—"

"Please don't argue!" he gasped out in a strangled voice. "She might have just passed out!"

"Ah, shit," he muttered, and sprinted back.

"Talk to me," Gerard begged, laying a hand on the girl's forehead. Her body temperature was dangerously low, and her lips were turning blue. Short, shallow gasps of breath passed between her lips.

The girl's eyes flickered, and he caught a glimpse of bright blue before her breathing stopped.


	22. Take My Hand, We're Leaving Here Tonight

**I'm so utterly sorry if I took too long to answer your reviews and messages this week ;_; I've been...preoccupied. I think it's safe to say my life has been changed, cause I finished _The Dove Keeper. _If you've never read it, you must. It changes your entire outlook on life and it's simply the best thing I've ever read.**

**(Then again if you're in the MCR fandom you've probably already read it XD)**

**Enough about other peoples' fics. Here's mine ^_^**

CHAPTER 22: TAKE MY HAND, WE'RE LEAVING HERE TONIGHT

October 28, 2013

College Hill, Los Angeles, California

7:16 PM

Amy was tired.

Amy was always tired these days. It was a side effect of the pregnancy. No matter how much she slept every night, she always woke up tired and remained exhausted throughout the entire day. Her body was barely hers' anymore.

But this was a different kind of tired. She was mentally exhausted of the secrecy and hiding she and Chester had undergone in the past two weeks, all the hiding in darkened back rooms and only spending a few minutes outside in the dead of night. The pair hadn't seen anyone but Adrienne and a couple of her most trusted friends at the college, Taylor Momsen and Adam Gontier. Taylor and Adam were the other two people who worked at the store when Adrienne wasn't there. At first, Adrienne had tried to keep them completely secret for their safety, but when Taylor had burst into the back room one day looking for a missing box of supplies, she'd realized it would be impossible to hide them from everyone. Adam and Taylor had kept their presence thankfully quiet, and Amy and Chester hadn't been found by anyone else thus far. They managed to live in the back room in complete secrecy.

It was a very loose definition of living, though. Spending ninety-nine percent of your life in one cramped, fluorescently-lit closet while trying to keep as quiet as possible was neither easy nor comfortable, and both were at the end of their tether.

There was also the constant threat of being found out hanging over their heads. If BL/ind even caught the hint of a word that they were hiding there and came to investigate, Amy would be killed without a second thought and Chester would be arrested, Adrienne, Taylor and Adam along with him. That was the hardest part: knowing that not only were they endangering themselves, but three completely innocent people who had done nothing but help them.

It was all these thoughts that drove Amy's mental debate that night. On one hand, she and Chester had the precarious but temporary safe haven of Adie's cramped back room, complete with boredom and cabin fever. On the other hand, there was…unknown.

Everything about their future was unknown. They wouldn't be able to go back to Battery City until they were both twenty-one and lawfully able to keep their child. But the three years in between was a great big blank, a question mark on the timelines of their lives. They had nowhere to go. They certainly couldn't stay locked up in a back room for the entire time, much less deliver and raise a baby in secret. It would be too loud, too obvious, and besides, Amy and Chester couldn't do it alone. And they couldn't shove all that responsibility and pressure on Adrienne.

They had to leave, Amy decided, watching her fiancé's slowly rising and falling chest as he slept peacefully. And as soon as possible. They just had to figure out where to go.

A soft knocking came at the door just then, three short taps, a pause, and then one more. It was Adrienne's code for 'it's just me.' There was a different one for it there were more unknown people with her, but they hadn't had to use it yet—thank God.

"Come in," Amy called out tiredly. Chester blinked, then sat up, yawning.

"Dinner," Adrienne said softly, setting down two Styrofoam trays in front of them. "I think the Dracs are getting suspicious—they keep asking me to double-check the inventory to make sure nothing's missing."

"Shit," Chester muttered. Amy didn't respond, as she was already digging into her food ravenously.

Adrienne sat down cross-legged across from the pair, resting her hands on her folded knuckles. "How are you guys holding up in here?"

The brunette boy shrugged. "We're alive," he said simply, taking a bite of dinner.

"Well, that's what's important," Adrienne sighed.

She watched them eat in silence, the younger couple too hungry to talk in between hurried bites of food, but a smile graced her face as Amy pushed her empty tray away.

"Adie, Chester," the teenage girl said quietly. "Um…so I've been thinking."

"'Bout what?" Chester asked.

Amy exhaled heavily, blowing small curls of black hair off of her forehead. "The future."

Adie and Chester frowned. It was the exact thing they had been trying _not _to think about, as it was so incredibly dangerous and uncertain. None of them had any idea what to do.

"I think…I think we have to leave," Amy whispered, reaching for Chester's hand. He squeezed her fingers tightly, signaling that he was listening and understood. The simple gesture gave her confidence.

"It's too dangerous for you, Adie," she said more loudly. "And Adam and Taylor, too. I can't let them get hurt for us. There's always the chance they'll find out, and if that happens, we're all screwed. You're in jail, I'm dead. It's already hard, but think what it'll be like with the baby. It'll be absolutely impossible. Sooner or later, we'll have to go, and I'd rather it be sooner so we're already somewhere safe when the baby comes."

A defiant, frightened look had been crawling onto Adrienne's face slowly as Amy made her speech, and when her younger sister was at last quiet, she began to shake her head vigorously.

"No. No way!" she exclaimed vehemently. "Amy, you've got no idea what's out there! Where will you go?"

"Wherever we can," the younger girl shrugged.

Chester had been oddly silent during this exchange, his thumb stroking absently over the back of Amy's hand as he thought. On one hand, it was his priority to protect his family. For the time being, Amy and the child would be safe here. But what his fiancée was saying was one hundred percent true, and he couldn't go on doing this to Adrienne…

"I agree with Amy," he murmured, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"Chester!" Adrienne began shooting daggers at him with her eyes. Obviously she'd expected him to take her side in the argument. "Don't you think it would be safer if you stayed here?"

"For us, maybe, but not for you," the boy answered.

"I'm fully prepared to take responsibility for hiding you from BL/ind if it comes down to it," Adrienne stated.

"But what about Adam and Taylor?" he countered. "Do you want them condemned, too?"

Adrienne frowned. "Well, of course not, but—"

"Then the only safe way is if we go," Chester finished.

The older woman eyed them carefully, staring her sister and her boyfriend down. They stared back, unyielding.

Finally, Adrienne sighed heavily and slumped, averting her gaze. "I heard from a friend of a friend that there might be people living in the desert," she muttered. "They apparently take refugees and outlaws from Battery City. You'll wanna ask Taylor about it, she knows more, but it might be your only option."

"Oh, Adie," Amy whispered, throwing her arms around Adrienne. The older sibling's eyes had begun to water, and she reached to brush them away fiercely.

"I'll get Taylor and make supply packs for you," she said brusquely, patting Amy's back. "You two are complete idiots. I love you, and you had better live so I can see my nephew or niece."

"Thank you, Adrienne," Chester said sincerely, embracing her too. "For everything."

She smiled waterily. "It's what big sisters do."

Fifteen minutes later, Taylor poked her blond head in, glancing at the pair. "Hey, guys," she yawned. "Any reason Adie had to come get me in the middle of the night and told me to visit?"

Amy blushed lightly. "Sorry about that. We were just wondering, cause Adie said you know something about it…what do you know about the people living in the desert?"

"Oh, the Killjoys?" Taylor dropped to her knees, seating herself and leaning back on her hands. "They're sort of more like an urban legend than anything else. I don't even know if they're real."

"Killjoys?" Chester questioned curiously.

"Yeah. My friend Renee was telling me about them the other night. Supposedly, there's an army of rebel soldiers living in this massive abandoned top-secret complex. They're planning to take over BL/ind or something. Legend is they run a radio show, but whenever anyone has tried to listen to it all they get is static…"

"Do you know what station it is?" Amy asked.

"Yeah, it's 104.1, but don't bother. I've and Renee's checked and it never plays anything other than static. I bet the whole thing's some ruse that BL/ind uses to keep us in line, like, 'Don't go in the desert or the big scary Killjoy army will get you.'"

Amy and Chester exchanged wide-eyed glances. The idea was sounding more and more ridiculous every second.

"Why do you need to know?" Taylor questioned.

Amy closed her eyes and sighed. "Well…um…we're—Chester and I—we're leaving."

"What? _Really?_" the blonde girl gawked. "But you're still…" she trailed off, seeming lost for words, and gestured to her massive stomach.

"Exactly," Amy smiled. "We need to get someplace safe before it comes."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Taylor asked skeptically.

Chester shrugged. "It's the best one we can come up with right now."

"Well, be careful." Taylor stood, dusting her palms off on the front of her black jeans. "Don't do anything stupid. Make careful decisions and all that good shit, and tell us before you go. Me and Adam will want to say goodbye."

"Of course," Amy promised.

The older girl yawned. "Night, guys."

"Night, Taylor."

The blonde threw them a careless smile as she exited, calling out something incoherent to Adrienne as she left. Adie came in a few minutes later and sat down. "What did she say?" she asked.

Chester shared a look with Amy. "Do you have a radio?" he questioned.

"Why?" Adrienne asked suspiciously.

"I wanna check something Taylor told us."

Adrienne raised an eyebrow, then bustled out of the room, returning a moment later with a small portable transmitter clutched in her hands. She set the tiny device, barely bigger than her palm, down in between the pair.

"Good luck," she murmured. "See you in the morning."

"Night, Adie," Amy whispered, pecking her sister lightly on the cheek before turning her attention to the radio.

"104.1, she said. Right?" Chester confirmed, already twisting at one of the dials. Pure static filled the room, and Amy cringed at the loud sound, slapping her hands over her ears.

"Sorry, sorry." He frantically fumbled for the volume dial and turned it. The static immediately cut in half.

"S'okay," she mumbled, moving closer once again. Chester furrowed his brow, staring down at the device in concentration.

"It's on the station," he muttered, staring daggers into the small plastic transmitter. "So why isn't it doing anything?"

"Maybe it's just an urban legend, Chaz," Amy sighed.

He shook his head. "No way! This is our only option, Ames! We can't just give up!"

"We're chasing the chance of a dream," she argued. "Taylor said it herself: the Killjoys are probably some made-up tale straight from the company's headquarters, designed to keep us under control."

"But what if they're _not?_" he asked. "Just what if? What if it's all true? We've solved all our problems right there! If there's even the slightest possibility they might be real, we have to go for it."

"But there _isn't _a possibility!"

"Amy—"

But at that moment, a noise pierced the static, just a single spoken word. But it was enough.

"_Killjoys._"

"What?" Chester exclaimed, spinning back to the device. Amy's mouth snapped shut, and she stared, wide-eyed at the tiny machine, unbelieving.

And then sound filled the room, but not static. There were three distinct voices cutting through the air.

"You're here with Doctor Death Defying tonight," a gruff voice informed them.

"Crash and Surgeon here, too," a younger, more excitable male cut in.

"This can't be real," Amy whispered, staring at the plastic box. But still, the voices continued.

"We're still working to solve the mystery of the rayguns, but so far, BL/ind hasn't sent any more of their Draculoid scum after us—thank God. We've shown them once. If they come at us again, we'll show them again, and this time we're armed." The pair could almost see the speaker's grin penetrate the airwaves.

"They're sending Draculoids after them," Chester reveled. "It's got to be them, Ames! We found them! The Killjoys!"

His fiancée shushed him. "Not yet we haven't," she reminded him. "C'mon, keep listening in case they give a clue about where they are."

The pair stared, rapt and attentive, as the voice that called itself Doctor Death Defying interviewed the one called Surgeon about the rayguns, which the couple gathered had been stolen from passing Draculoids. Their vital clue didn't come till the very end of the announcement.

"Come join us, rebels," the oldest man said. "Head straight into the desert. Drive around for a bit. If you don't find us, we'll come find you. And if you're a fucking Draculoid, we won't think twice about ghosting you."

Chester and Amy shared a wide-eyed, ecstatic glance. There it was—the solution to all of their problems!

"Killjoys, make some noise!" Doctor Death Defying yelled, his voice blasting through the room. The voice abruptly cut into static and the couple was left shocked in the wake.

"Told you," Chester whispered wonderingly. Amy nodded mechanically, apparently too shocked and confused to talk. Her eyes stayed locked on the transmitter.

"Let's go," she answered quietly. "Tomorrow. Let's go into the desert and find them."

A few minutes later, Adrienne checked back into the room, overwhelmingly curious about their decision. Her eyes nearly filled with tears once more when Amy told her, but she brushed them away quickly and promised her sister that she, Adam and Taylor would be there at six a.m. before the rest of the college students were up, to say their goodbyes. They slept soundlessly and peacefully that night.

At five forty-five, Chester's phone blasted an alarm and the pair roused themselves. A knock came on the door, signaling the coast was clear for them to depart.

"Ames, are you sure?" Adrienne asked, clutching her sister's hand. "You're safe here, you know."

Amy nodded. "I'm sure," she said clearly.

Adrienne sighed and enveloped her in a hug, slipping a backpack into the younger girl's hands. "Food, supplies and clothes," she told the pair. "And my phone number. Call me if _anything _happens."

"Of course," Amy whispered. "Thank you so much, all three of you, for everything you've done."

"Stay safe," Adam murmured. Taylor nodded silently, her eyes fixed on Amy.

"And never hesitate to come back," Adrienne finished.

"Thanks," Chester nodded. He grabbed Amy's hand tightly and turned to go.

"Wait." Adrienne reached out and grabbed his shoulder, spinning him and Amy around to face her once again.

"Whatever you do, take care of my niece or nephew," she said seriously. "You protect it with your life. And make sure it gets to see its' Aunt Adie someday."

Amy smiled weakly. "Of course," she murmured, her hands moving to cradle the baby bump.

"Good luck," Adrienne said. "I'll see you again."

The three college students didn't stop waving at Chester and Amy until the couple was out of sight, their forms slowly disappearing over the crest of the hill the college sat on. Amy sighed and slipped her hand into Chester's, knowing they had a long walk ahead of them. The desert was a four-hour walk through deserted suburbs, and from there, who knew how long it would be until they found the Killjoys. Yet again she was struck with a sense of foreboding as she realized how utterly unprepared they were. What were they going to do if they ran out of food, or got stuck alone in the desert after nightfall, or were caught in bad weather?

Chester seemed to be reading her mind, because he squeezed her fingers and murmured, "By nighttime, we'll be safe with the Killjoys."

"I hope," she sighed. "God, our lives have gotten turned upside down, haven't they?"

"This entire year has been absolutely crazy," he agreed. His thumb absently toyed with the ring Amy wore on her fourth finger, stroking over the silver band and blue gem absently. "But at least we're together. It hasn't been that bad, has it?"

"Well, let's see. I moved in with the love of my life, got engaged, and am now pregnant with his baby. I think that's pretty good," she teased, resting her head in the crook of his neck.

"I think so too," he smiled.

It was nearly noon by the time Chester and Amy finally entered the desert, their feet happily deserting the rough, broken asphalt for soft, warm sand instead. It came as a welcome relief to the weary travelers, and Chester suggested that they celebrate with a quick break. Amy collapsed gratefully onto the golden sand.

"Almost there, Ames," Chester assured her, joining his fiancée on the desert ground. "We're nearly out of the woods."

Amy sighed and kicked off her boots, tipping her head up to look into the gray sky. "It looks rainy," she observed.

"That's how it always looks in Battery City."

"I know," she said. "I just feel like it should be…I dunno, brighter? I thought it wasn't supposed to rain in the desert often."

"We probably just caught it on an off day," Chester smiled. "Anyway, we'll be safe by tonight."

Still, the foreboding gray cloud cover hung over them as the pair resumed their journey quickly. Both were worried by the imminent rain and wanted to find shelter as soon as possible, be it with the Killjoys or not.

But the desert was still scarily empty. There hadn't been a single sign of life since they'd left Adrienne, Taylor and Adam on the top of the hill hours and hours ago.

"It's getting worse," Chester commented grimly, glancing again at the darkening sky.

"We should go find somewhere to rest," Amy agreed. She pulled her jacket tighter, shivering lightly.

He noticed. "Are you cold?" he asked quickly, grabbing at his own coat to try and give it to her.

"N-no!" she exclaimed. "Keep it, Chaz, I'm fine. I don't want you getting sick."

"You sure?" he murmured, concerned.

"Yeah, I'm—what was that?"

Amy looked down, confused, at her wrist. She'd felt a sting like a bug there only a moment ago. There was a small, round pink blemish on the pale skin.

"What?" Chester questioned.

"My wrist—ow, there it is again!" She lifted a hand to feel the spot on her dark hair where there had been another sting.

Chester frowned and glanced around, surveying the area. There was still no one moving in the vicinity, and he didn't see any insects. But then he felt it too—a burn on his cheek, small but painful. He had no idea where it could have come from.

"It's probably nothing to worry about—" he started. But at that moment Amy cried out and lifted her hands as if to shield her head. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly.

And Chester understood—because now those tiny burns were peppering his body, splattering onto his bare skin and cutting holes through his clothing.

"Shit," he muttered, and then, louder, "_Shit!_" He grabbed Amy's hand and began to run, tugging his stricken fiancée after him as he sprinted across the slowly dampening sand.

_Acid rain._

Of course. After all that they'd already been through, they just couldn't be allowed a quick, easy departure. God just wanted to fuck with them as much as he could.

Amy was slowing down behind him. Her poor, abused body was already weak from the pregnancy and more tired yet from the long walk. This last sprint was just too much for her to take.

"C'mon, Amy!" Chester yelled. But it was hopeless. The young girl had fallen to her knees, her chest heaving, and she looked up at him with wide, shining blue eyes.

"Go on without me," she gasped.

"Never!" Chester growled. He turned back and ran towards her, throwing himself next to her limp form.

"Don't be an idiot, Chester," Amy whispered. "You'll die."

"But you will if I leave you out here!" he gasped.

Amy smiled weakly. "Better one of us than both."

_This was not happening. _

Chester let out a strangled growl and threw his arms around Amy, heaving her tired form into his arms. His fear and frustration opened unknown reserves of energy in him, and he stumbled forward, supporting Amy as best he could.

"Chazy…don't…" Amy murmured weakly. A violent shiver passed through her body, and her eyelids fluttered.

"Just hold in there, Ames," he promised. He held Amy's body closer to his own, trying to transmit some of his body heat to her and shield her from the worst of the rain.

And there it was, on the horizon. A tiny shack on the side of the road. It looked rickety, and Chester had no idea what it was doing there, but he wasn't going to question. It was shelter.

"We're gonna be fine," he nearly sobbed to Amy. "We're gonna be fine."

His head and neck were raw and burned by the time they reached the building, but they had escaped the worst of the rain. The moment the door shut behind them, Chester could hear it begin to pour down, battering the small refuge they had found. It had already taken a heavy beating from the previous apocalypse, and it was hardly what you could call 'safe.' It shook with every gust of wind and deadly rain seeped through the holes in the ceiling. But it was a savior. They were safe from the worst of it.

Chester could only spend the hours they spent sheltered in the small building worrying. He ignored his own condition—he was a burned, shivering mess. But Amy was worse. She was slowly deteriorating, sleeping in small, restless fits before waking in a burst of consuming shudders. She complained of her stomach paining her. And to Chester, that was the scariest part. At least he could monitor Amy's condition. He had no way of knowing what was happening to their child.

It happened while she was sleeping, and for that, he was thankful. He had no idea how she slept through it. The sound was like a bomb exploding.

The ceiling sagged, and then, with an almighty groan, tore itself from the rest of the structure. Chester barely had time to scramble out of the way before the roof of the shack landed at his feet. Within seconds, a torrent of rain was pouring in.

"No," he gasped, jumping to his feet. But the stinging was returning anew. He felt his skin assaulted by the miniscule acid drops and cried out, shielding his arms.

"Chaz?" Amy whispered sleepily, blinking.

Chester whirled around. "Go back to sleep, Amy," he begged.

"But…the ceiling!" she exclaimed, sitting up. Then it hit her—literally—and she curled in on herself, forming a protective ball.

He gritted his teeth. "I know, baby," he whispered. "We have to go on."

For fifteen agonizing, desperate minutes, Chester endured the rain silently. He held Amy close to his chest, sheltering her shivering form with him own. The acid pounded down relentlessly as if it was determined to kill them both. He tried—oh God, he tried—but eventually, it was too much for even strong, willful Chester to take. He gently set Amy's feet on the ground just as the rain began to let up.

"Look, I think we're almost there, Chazy," she murmured. She was tired, oh so tired, but she didn't want to put more strain on her exhausted fiancé. So she forced her feet to keep moving forward, shuffling through the wet sand, even though all she wanted to do was lie down and sleep forever…

"Chazy?" Amy whispered, suddenly aware of the absence of his footsteps. She turned back to look at him. He was frozen in place, looking exhausted and ready to drop. "Chester!"

"Go find someone," he sighed. "I can't go on."

She watched as he fell to his knees, then slammed his palms into the sand, hunched over. A roar filled her ears. She wasn't sure if it was an external noise or just blood rushing to her head.

"No!" she gasped, shuffling back over to him. Her body protested her every move, but still she forced herself forward. She kneeled next to him and placed her hands atop his. But he slumped over, his eyes sliding closed, and was gone.

"Chaz!" she sobbed. She stumbled to her feet once again, but she had reached her breaking point, mentally and physically. She was barely aware of running feet as she fell to the ground.

And then someone was leaning over her, a pale face framed with curtains of black hair. He placed his hot fingers on her neck, then her forehead, and she shivered involuntarily.

"Help…" she moaned. She had to get to the Killjoys. They would help.

He stared down at her, concerned. "Help is coming soon, just hold on…"

"Need…Doctor Death Defying…" she managed to gasp out before her world faded to black.


	23. I Want To Be In The Energy

**So, three cheers for early updates ^^  
>lol no actually it's cause I'm gonna be awol this weekend so rather than leave the update until Monday I decided to put it up tonight...lucky you guys \o**

**(also if you wanna do me a huge fucking favor...leave a review telling me what your favorite part of this so far has been-I need to share a five-page excerpt with my CW class and I can't decide which cause I'm a lazy, indecisive motherfucker XD)**

CHAPTER 23: I WANT TO BE IN THE ENERGY NOT WITH THE ENEMY

October 31, 2013

The Abandoned Warehouse Killjoy Headquarters, Zone 4, California

4:08 PM

"Shh, she's waking up!"

Amy groaned. Her eyelids fluttered open, and her vision slowly came into focus.

She suddenly wished it hadn't.

Five faces stared down at her with undisguised curiosity and suspicion. She recognized one of them immediately as the boy that had found her in the desert. He stood next to a shorter boy near her feet.

"Wh…where am I?" she yawned, blinking up at them innocently.

The man nearest her head spoke first. He had short, messy raven-black hair and piercing hazel green eyes.

"Do you remember anything?" he questioned, not unkindly.

Amy closed her eyes and thought. She remembered her and Chester leaving Adie's and journeying into the desert. She remembered some great disaster…acid rain, that was it. She remembered pain and cold. She remembered the boy—Gerard, did he say his name was?—leaning over her, asking questions.

And then her memories became disjointed fragments, small snippets of conversation. _Is that a _girl? _Get Billie. Go, Frank, now! She must be hypothermic. Get blankets. Is she _pregnant? _Jesus, she's gorgeous._

And then she realized that somehow, their conversation from only moments ago had seeped into her subconscious. _She knows our names. She'll see our faces. She could be working for BL/ind. Potential security threat. Two choices._

_She stays, or we'll have to kill her._

The young girl shook her head and forced her eyes open again, glancing around wildly. "Where's Chester?" she exclaimed. "Where is he?"

"We can't tell you," the green-eyed man told her.

"But why—"

But a loud noise outside the room broke her words off. The door to the room banged open violently, and a frantic Chester stood in the doorway, chest heaving.

"Ames," he breathed, starting towards her. "You're fine."

"Don't move!" another voice rang out, and two teenage boys came bursting through the entryway. They both held futuristic-looking guns, and the barrels were trained on Chester. He stopped his progress immediately.

"We tried to stop him, Doc, but he overpowered Mi—I mean, Angel and Wolf," the taller, curly-haired one panted. He stepped forward tentatively, seizing Chester's upper arm.

Chester growled angrily. "Did they hurt you, Amy?"

"No, I'm fine," she murmured, heaving herself up. She realized she was in a bed, and it was quite comfortable, piled high with pillows and blankets.

"The baby—"

"It's fine too," she assured him, her hands resting lightly on her stomach. Instinctively, she knew it was true. She would somehow know if her baby was hurt—it was a bond, a link between her and the little being in her stomach.

He struggled against the tall teenager's restraining hands once again, and the other stepped forward to aid his friend, grabbing Chester's other arm tightly. Chester shot a murderous look at the scrawny, mousy-haired boy and curled his hands into fists.

"Just let him go!" Amy cried out, reaching a hand towards her boyfriend.

The green-eyed man glanced between Amy and Chester, seemingly making a decision, before announcing "Jet, Kobra, you can let him go."

The teenage boys frowned but relinquished their grip on Chester's upper arms. As soon as he was free, he rushed toward Amy, throwing himself onto his knees next to her bed. He seized her hands tightly.

"Chester, what happened?" Amy swallowed weakly and stared at him, eyes full of questions.

"I have no idea," he murmured. "I woke up in a room down the hall ten minutes ago and they wouldn't tell me anything. There were five people in my room, too, and they've all got weird code names they call each other by when I'm around. They wouldn't let me see you. I had to knock one of them out to get here."

"Chaz, we can't make them mad," she protested quietly. She glanced around the room before leaning towards him, lowering her voice carefully. "They were talking about us earlier," she whispered. "They thought I couldn't hear. They were saying that either we'll have to stay here with them or they'll kill us."

Chester reeled back, shocked. He stared at Amy with wide eyes.

"They think we'll tell BL/ind," she continued.

They were suddenly aware of the eyes of every person in the room focused on them. The seven men made no secret of their suspicion towards the couple by the bed. Their eyes narrowed, and the green-eyed man stepped forward, frowning.

"We'll have to question you," he informed them. "Separately."

Chester didn't relinquish his hold on Amy's hand. "I'm not leaving her," he growled.

Something on the periphery of Amy's vision shifted, and she flicked her eyes toward the door. Jet and Kobra had raised their guns again. The blue and red weapons were trained on her fiancée, but he didn't seem to notice, as he was locked in an angry stare down with the older man.

"Resisting us doesn't help," the leader answered. "We don't want to hurt you, but we can't have a threat to our lives staying here. You have two options: come quietly, or we'll have to fight you."

"If you keep threatening us, I'm not going to cooperate," Chester refuted angrily.

"Chaz…" Amy whimpered, squeezing his hand. It didn't seem like a good idea to argue with these people at the moment, when they were so obviously overwhelmed and lost somewhere in the desert. They needed to gain the trust of the strange group. They couldn't strand themselves out here alone without support. Whether she liked it or not, they needed these peoples' help.

"You don't have an option," the green-eyed man seethed.

"Just watch me," Chester hissed, his empty hand curling into a fist. "I won't let—"

"Chester!" Amy gasped out. "Please stop!"

He turned to her, confused. "We can't trust them, Ames," he murmured. "I have to protect us."

"But this isn't the way!" she exclaimed. She looked away from her fiancé and turned to address the group of hostile strangers.

"Question me all you want," she announced. "I'm not afraid to answer. But don't hurt us. Don't hurt him."

"Amy!" Chester nearly yelled. His voice came out strangled.

"Please trust me on this, Chazy," she whispered.

The green-eyed man watched her suspiciously for a minute, obviously trying to judge her sincerity, before relaxing. "At least one of you is rational," he smirked.

"As long as you keep us safe," Amy replied coolly.

He nodded. "As long as you don't threaten us, your safety is assured."

"That's all that I'm asking for."

The older man smiled at her suddenly. It was just a small gesture, but it immediately set Amy at ease. She remembered in that moment that they, too, were human, and they didn't want to hurt her.

He was all business a moment later. "Poison, Ghoul, help her down to the office. Kobra, set up the computer. Jet, get Revolution. He can do the questioning."

The teenage boys with the guns—Jet and Kobra—nodded and ran from the room. The ones she assumed to be Poison and Ghoul, who she recognized as the boys who had saved her in the desert, made their way to the head of the bed.

"They're just gonna ask you a couple questions," the taller assured her, running a pale hand through messy black hair. "Don't be scared, it'll be alright."

"You'll need to let go of her," the other directed to Chester.

Chester glared up at him and tightened his grip on her hand. "Where she goes, I go."

"No can do," he shrugged. "Sorry, dude, but those are the rules. We've had too many brushes with Draculoids—we're cracking down on security. Be glad we didn't bust iout masks and voice disguisers too."

Chester looked like he was gearing up for another argument, but Amy squeezed his hand, quieting him. "I'll be fine, Chaz," she murmured. "I can take care of myself."

"I know you can," he sighed.

She smiled softly. "See you soon. I love you."

With some difficulty, Amy struggled out of the bed, her tired body still protesting. She hadn't healed entirely from the desert ordeal yet, but the group of strangers had treated her well. The worst of the acid burns on her arms had been bandaged and she was aware of some kind of medicine clouding her brain. More than anything, the warmth and chance for rest had helped. At least the situation wasn't completely hostile.

Poison and Ghoul led her across a metal railing and to a steep ladder built into the wall, grinning apologetically. They tried to help her down as best they could. Eventually, all three made it to the bottom level and Amy glanced around in amazement.

They were in a cavernous room, almost as tall as it was wide and full of furniture, electronics, instruments and other homelike accessories. It was empty save a lone redheaded man standing near the door, raygun tucked into his belt. He saluted them as they walked past.

"Hey, Detonator," the shorter boy called out.

"Who've you got there, Ghoul?" the man answered, smirking.

"Desert girl woke up," Ghoul shrugged. "Doctor D wants her taking in for questioning, so we're bringing her to the office."

The words struck a nerve in Amy's heart. 'Taken in for questioning?' That didn't sound too good. The way Ghoul put it, it seemed as if she had done something wrong.

A look of fear must have crossed her face, because Detonator shot her a sympathetic smile. "Don't worry, doll," he advised. "Revolution isn't that bad.'

"Thanks," Amy smiled weakly.

Poison and Ghoul led her into a small room set along the back wall, a stark, fluorescent space with a metal desk and an imposing table with two chairs. The skinny boy, Kobra, sat at the desk clicking away on a laptop computer. He shot a reassuring at Amy as she was guided to one of the metal chairs at the table.

"Revolution should be in here in a minute," Poison told her. "You can just sit down. Tell us if you need anything."

Amy nodded silently, her throat suddenly too tight to speak. Despite all their reassurance and kindness, she still couldn't shake the irrational fear. If she didn't answer this interrogation correctly, they had full power over her and Chester. They could kill them, or worse yet, send them back to BL/ind.

The door swung open suddenly, and a tall dirty-blond man marched in, Jet tailing him. The teen took his place beside Kobra while the man sat down in the chair across from Amy, unsmiling. _This must be Revolution, _she thought.

Revolution glanced at Kobra, who nodded and bit his lip as he concentrated on something on the computer screen. He flashed a quick thumbs-up a moment later.

"Full name and age," Revolution stated in an emotionless voice.

Amy tried hard to speak and found her throat was still seized up in fear. Nervously, she coughed and tried again.

"Amy Lynn Lee, seventeen," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Kobra keyed something into the computer, his face a mask of concentration. He glanced at Amy and checked the screen again, then nodded at Revolution.

"Previous occupation?" questioned the older man.

"Better Living Industries office secretary," she answered quietly. Her hands twisted together in her lap.

"Family members?"

"Living or dead?" she choked out.

"Living relations and parents," he clarified, not breaking eye contact with her.

She wanted to drop her gaze so badly—his stare was so piercing, so cold—but she couldn't show weakness, she knew. She couldn't look at all suspicious.

"My one living sibling is my half-sister Adrienne Nesser. My parents were John and Sara Lee."

At the computer, Kobra nodded again and flashed her a quick smile when Revolution wasn't looking.

"Full name and age of the boy you arrived here with," Revolver demanded.

"Chester Charles Bennington, eighteen."

Amy was getting into the swing of it, and the men could notice. Poison and Ghoul had dropped their rayguns into their laps when they realized she wasn't a threat, Jet and Kobra were whispering instead of focusing on the computer screen, and even Revolution seemed to relax a little. He leaned back in his chair.

"What is your relationship to him?"

"He's my fiancé."

Revolution glanced up curiously at this. "Your stomach. Are you pregnant?"

"Yeah." A smile crossed Amy's face and her arms snaked around her belly.

"Is he the father?"

"M-hm." She nodded happily.

An expression of realization crossed Kobra's face, and he looked more closely at the laptop. "Information is verified in her BL/ind file," he announced. "She's got a death warrant for it."

"Really?" A quick look, no more than a flicker, flashed across Revolution's face. But it had been there—a smile, impressed and almost sympathetic.

"We had to go into hiding before coming here," she explained. "BL/ind nearly caught us."

"I think you'd better start from the beginning," he smirked.

"Well, just like everyone's story, it started on December 21st, 2012…"

It took Amy a long time to explain her entire tale, but as she spoke, she felt the weight of her predicament quickly falling away. It felt so good to finally be able to tell someone about how BL/ind had wronged them, how their lives had been ruined, how they needed not only safety, but revenge. She left out only the part about the Killjoys, not wanting to give away their true mission—if the secret society _was _real, she was certain she shouldn't go around telling strangers about it. Revolution listened carefully. His expression never changed but he didn't interrupt her at any point. Every so often, Kobra would key something into the laptop. Poison and Ghoul, meanwhile, seemed to barely be able to contain their shock and excitement at her ordeal.

"So we left Adrienne's…today? Yesterday?" Amy shrugged. "I'm not even sure how long we've been here. We left in the morning and it started raining right after we got into the desert. We found shelter, but it dissolved. I'm not sure what happened next. I woke up in here…" She spread her hands helplessly.

Revolution shook his head slightly as if coming out of a trance. "Wow," he muttered, smirking slightly.

"It's kind of a lot," she apologized.

He grinned. "Either that's an extremely elaborate cover story, or you've gone through some deep shit."

"Sort of," she smiled weakly.

The older man abruptly stood, pushing his chair back and offering her his hand. She took it gratefully and rose too.

"I believe you," he confided. "But we'll have to corroborate your story with your fiance's before making any decisions. Poison and Ghoul can take care of you."

The two boys sheathed their guns and stepped forward at this, smiling kindly. "C'mon," Poison offered. "We can go hang in the main room till Chester's done."

"What's the main room?" Amy asked as they led her out of the small office.

"It's that big space we came through to get down here," Ghoul explained, pushing open the door. "This area. We do everything down here—sleep, eat, hold meetings, et cetera."

"It's so big," she marveled.

"Well, it used to be a warehouse," Poison told her. "We're still working on getting everything up. It's not complete yet, but it works for what we need it for."

"What do you need it for?"

Amy could immediately see she'd asked one question too many. Ghoul and Poison exchanged worried glances. "I don't think we can tell you yet," Poison said apologetically.

She nodded. "Don't worry, I get it. But could you at least tell me what you're doing out here?"

"Um…well…" the older boy suddenly became shifty. "We're just…I guess you could say we're hiding from BL/ind."

"Just like us," she grinned. "Do you know anything about the Killjoys?"

A smile cracked Ghoul's face, although she could see he was trying to hide it. "I guess you could say that," he chuckled.

Only a few minutes after Poison guided Amy to a dusty couch along one of the walls, she was asleep, not even aware of her tiredness until she was already lying down. The two teenage boys didn't disturb her as she rested, to her relief. She didn't wake for nearly an hour. The overwhelming stress and lenghth of the journey had finally gotten to her, and now that she was fairly safe, her body shut down.

She woke when Poison shook her shoulder lightly, smiling at her gently. "Your boyfriend's done with questioning," he told her. "Crash is gonna stay here with you for a bit."

"Where are you going?" Amy asked sleepily.

His grin faded a bit. "The rest of us are gonna meet about what to do with you."

"Oh." Amy was suddenly wide awake.

"Don't worry," he murmured. "From what I've heard, most of us trust your story. We've just got to be sure."

"Why can't we know so much about you?" she burst out desperately.

Poison's expression turned grave. "What we're doing is technically illegal. BL/ind can't find out. Ever."

"But we would never tell them," she protested.

"We can't take that risk."

Amy watched hopelessly as Poison turned and walked back towards the ladder that led upstairs, where Ghoul already waited. An older man with a mass of curly brown hair emerged from the office only a moment later, leading—

"Chester!" Amy gasped, jumping up from the couch. He caught sight of her at the same time, breaking away from the man and dashing towards her. He caught her up in his arms tightly, holding her as if he never wanted to let her go.

"Are you okay? Did they hurt you?" he murmured frantically into her ear.

"No, I'm completely fine," she breathed. "Are you alright? What did they ask you about?"

"Basic facts—names, ages, relatives—and then our story, from the beginning. I told them everything I could remember."

"You didn't protest too much, did you?" she asked worriedly.

He smirked at this. "They only had to threaten me with guns twice."

"Chaz," she groaned, but all the same clutched him tighter to her.

"It's alright, I'm alright," he laughed. "That's all that matters for now."

Meanwhile, barely fifty feet away, the young couple's fate was being decided in a long, bare room on the top floor. Eleven of the twelve Killjoys congregated there, all but Brad who had stayed behind with the new pair. He'd volunteered on the terms hat his vote towards whatever Phoenix's opinion was.

Gerard was the last one into the room, drawing the attention of his friends as he perched atop a cardboard box. His heels drummed a beat into the makeshift chair.

"What do we do now, Billie?"

The question came from Rob, who sat next to Mike S on the far end of the room.

Billie sighed and turned to Mike D on his right. "How'd the questioning go?"

"Bennington is an arrogant bastard," the blond man growled. "But Amy was reasonable and compliant, and she's a strong girl. She's the type we need in the Killjoys. Their stories matched perfectly, and that's not the kind of story you can just make up off the top of your head."

"I used the new software we wrote to hack into their files from the BL/ind database," Mikey added. "That matched up, too. Chester's wanted for up to 30 years in prison, and Amy's got a death warrant hanging over her head. They were both employed by the company until about two weeks ago, when their apartment was apparently abandoned. That's what Amy told us when she was explaining her story."

"Are they trustworthy?" Billie asked shortly.

"The girl, at least, seems to be," Mike nodded. "And while her boyfriend isn't that pleasant, I'm sure most of us would react the same way in that situation."

"So what do we do with them?"

It was a loaded question, and everyone knew it. Nobody wanted to be the first to give an opinion.

Finally, Gerard cleared his throat. "She asked about the Killjoys," he commented.

The heads of everyone in the room whipped around quickly to stare at him. "What did she say?" Billie asked sharply.

"She only asked if we knew anything about them," the younger man reported. "And when I found her in the desert, she said she needed Doctor Death Defying. I think…I think they might be looking for us."

Gasps and murmurs filled the room, expressions immediately turning pensive. Even Tré had stopped smiling and was looking quite serious for him.

"This means one of two things," Billie said quietly. "Either they're telling the truth and they desperately need our help, or they're spies that Better Living sent to find and infiltrate us."

"We can't risk it," Rob burst out. He absentmindedly rubbed his forehead, which was covered by a white bandage from where Chester had punched him when he'd woken up.

"I think we can trust them," Frank shot back. "They haven't given us a reason to believe otherwise."

"Besides knocking me out!" the older man growled.

Mike S nodded. "They're too suspicious. BL/ind's obviously found out about us, cause of all those Drac patrols they've been sending out, but we've usually been able to take those out without too much difficulty. Who's to say they're not just trying a new tactic since the first failed so badly?"

"But she's seventeen and she really is pregnant. That's illegal under Better Living law—punishable by death. You guys have all seen the laws. They'd never let her get away with that," Mikey argued.

"Unless they've cut her a deal so that they'll ignore it if she finds us," Phoenix suggested solemnly.

Gerard turned to the leader of the Killjoys. "Billie, what do you think?" he asked desperately.

Billie glanced around the circle at each Killjoy's face, gauging the mood in the room. It hung heavy with opinions and emotions.

"We'll vote," he decided. "Those who are willing to give them the benefit of the doubt and tell them about the Killjoys, which means potentially accepting them as one of us, and those who don't."

"What's the other option besides letting them join?" Joe asked shortly. "They know too much already if they _are _BL/ind spies. If that's what we decide, we can't let them go back to the city."

"What else can we do? Kill them?" Frank spat.

The Korean man shook his head. "Of course not. But on the last Draculoid we searched, I found this." He withdrew from his pocket a small, clear bottle surrounded by a blue label. The words on the front read 'Experimental Substance 231CX7—Memory Erasure.'

"I have no idea how safe it is," he continued. "But if it's the only alternative to having to kill them, I'd rather try this."

"Alright," Billie agreed. "Joining the Killjoys or memory wiping. All those for trusting them and telling them about the Killjoys, raise your hands."

Gerard, Frank, Mike D and Mikey immediately shot their hands into the air, Ray following tentatively after seeming to consider it for a moment. Billie counted and nodded. "Five for. Those against?"

Rob and Mike voted immediately. Tré and Joe raised their hands soon after, and finally Billie lifted his own, almost as an afterthought. "And…five against," he reported. "Who didn't vote?"

Everyone glanced around the circle confusedly until Phoenix cleared his throat. "I didn't," he announced. "I'm still deciding."

"Well, hurry up and make a choice," Tré demanded. "I want this over with."

The bassist looked as if he were deep in thought for a moment, before a look of decision spread over his face. "I don't trust them completely yet, but they deserve to know," he said slowly. "And they would make good Killjoys. I vote for them—and Brad votes with me."

"Then the vote is seven to five in favor," Billie said. "Chester and Amy stay, and if they want to, they join the Killjoys."


	24. A Future Gazing Out, A Past to Overwrite

**I 've been typing like a maniac this past week to get as much of this done as I can XD I've written all the way up to Chapter 37 so I can turn it in on Wednesday with the majority of it complete, and holy hell am I excited to post it x33 for now, enjoy this chap!**

CHAPTER 24: A FUTURE GAZING OUT, A PAST TO OVERWRITE

October 31, 2013

The Abandoned Warehouse Killjoy Headquarters, Zone 4, California

6:14 PM

Chester and Amy were waiting silently when the majority of the Killjoys re-entered the large room. Crash had long ago given up trying to make conversation with the pair, as both were mute with worry and exhaustion. The events of the past day had certainly taken teir toll on the younger couple.

"We reached a decision," the green-eyed man, whose name they still dind't know, told them.

Poison turned to them. "You asked about the Killjoys previously. Why?"

Amy frowned. She still wasn't sure how much she could tell them about their idea, because from how Taylor had spoken about it, mentions of the rebel group seemed nearly taboo. But Poison had asked her straight out. There simply wasn't a way around it.

"We…oh fuck it. We want to join them," Amy sighed. "A friend of ours told us about them when we were at Adrienne's place. We don't know if it's safe, and we don't know if they're real. But ut's our last option. All we have to do is find them. We'll leave you alone as soon as we do."

Her small speech triggered a flurry of eyebrow-raising and hushed murmurs among the group of strangers. Finally, the green-eyed man stepped forward.

"You've found them," he announced.

Amy blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I'm Doctor Death Defying. On behalf of the Killjoys, we welcome you."

"Oh, thank you," Amy gasped, grabbing his hand and shaking it. "Thank you so much!"

"You're not fully in yet," he warned her. "We've tightened security since our last recruits,k because of all the shit with Better Living and the Draculoids that's begun over the past few months. We're still busy deciding on all the details. But you'll be probationary members for a month, or until you prove yourselves trustworthy. We'll teach you everything we ourselves have learned about BL/ind, fighting, and Killjoy life in that month. At the end, you get your rayguns and names and we let you on the radio show. Capiche?"

"Awesome," she breathed. Beside her, Chester's face had broken into a smile, too, and he looked excited.

"What are you gonna teach us?" he asked curiously.

Doctor Death Defying shrugged. "Intelligence we gathered about the company. How to deend yourselves against Dracs—shooting and basic self-defense moves. How to live life in the desert. Everything we know, basically, and you'll have to bear with us because this is the first time we're trying it."

"When do we start?" Amy asked excitedly.

The Killjoy smirked. "Right now."

Over the next hour, Amy and Chester were formally introduced to all the Killjoys by their codenames ("Real names get revealed at the end of the month," Doctor D told them.) They were an eccentric group with names to match—besides those they already knew, there was Adrenaline, Detonator, Surgeon, Angel and Wolf, the latter of who Chester apologized profusely to for attacking him. The pair ate their mangled dinner ravenously, not realizing how hungry they had been until they were already devouring it, listening with half their attention as Revolution informed them about where they got food and supplies. Poison pulled out his shiny yellow raygun and fired a shot at a target painted along the back wall, obviously showing off a bit for them as he hit it dead center and jokingly blew on the smoking gun. They'd been 'commandeered' from fallen Draculoids, he informed them. Finally, when Amy's eyes began to flutter closed from exhaustion, Doctor D announced they were done for the night.

"Kobra, move in with Jet, would you? They can share your old room," he asked the young boy. "You two can lead them upstairs."

Kobra nodded, seemingly unfazed by the request and gestured to the pair. "Hope you don't mind sharing a twin-sized bed," he said apologetically. "We can get you something better tomorrow."

"Don't worry too much about it," Amy said kindly. She reached for Chester's hand in a sudden need for reassurance, and her fiancé tightened his grip, smiling at her gently.

"Jet, get your ass over here!" Kobra yelled. There was a loud groan, and the curly-haired boy dashed over to meet them at the foot of the ladder against the wall.

"Go clean your shithole up, I'll have to sleep on the floor tonight," teased Kobra, slugging Jet in the arm jokingly.

Jet feigned hurt. "What, you don't want to sleep with me tonight?"

"In your dreams!" Kobra laughed. Jet chuckled along with him and began to climb the ladder, calling down "And don't try anything in the middle of the night!"

"Like I'd try anything with your nasty ass!" Kobra shot back, almost unable to breathe from all his laughing. Still chuckling, he began to climb the ladder just as his friend reached the top, waving to Amy and Chester to follow him.

"At least they seem friendly enough," Chester murmured as Amy followed Kobra.

"We're pretty much safe from now on," Amy answered quietly. "Look at what they've done out here! It's an entire community completely out of BL/ind's clutches. It's what we've been searching for."

"The fighting part worries me, though," he whispered. He would have continued, but Kobra had reached the metal catwalk and was extending a hand to help Amy up. The pair hauled themselves onto the small platform and Kobra set off down the hall, the two rushing to keep up.

"Bedrooms," the younger boy called over his shoulder, gesturing left and right. "The end rooms are storage, be we're nearly done clearing them out. One's gonna be a hospital room, and the other's a music room cause some of the guys used to be in a band. Your room's here, on the end."

Kobra pulled open the door and ducked in first, coming out a few minutes later with an armful of clothes, blankets and books. "Sorry if it's a bit of a mess," he said apologetically. "Short warning, y'know?"

"Thank you for letting us stay here," Chester replied, grinning. "We owe you."

The younger boy smiled back. "Goodnight, guys. Glad you're here."

"Oh believe me, we are too," Amy laughed.

Contrary to Kobra's warning, his room was immaculate after his two trips down the hall to Jet's and his new bedroom. Amy soon collapsed onto the small bed, just about ready to pass out from exhaustion.

Chester smiled gently and flicked off the light. "We made it, Ames," he whispered, making his way over to her.

"We're actually _here,_" Amy agreed, sounding surprised through her haze of sleepiness. "I didn't think we'd make it."

He wrapped his arms around her waist, placing his chin on her shoulder and his hands on her stomach. There was a small kick as the baby stretched, almost as if it was aware of its' father's presence.

"It's been almost eight months," he murmured.

"That long already?" Amy laughed quietly and fiddled with the engagement ring on her finger.

"Time flies," he answered.

"It'll be born in a month," she said, surprised. "In a month, we'll have a child."

"In a month, we'll know whether it's a boy or a girl," Chester responded.

"I think it's a girl."

"How do you know?" he asked curiously.

Amy shrugged. "I don't know, really. Motherly instinct?"

"Whatever it is, it'll be beautiful," he murmured. "And it'll be ours."

"And we'll be a family."

And so the soon-to-be family fell asleep like that, Chester's hands placed tenderly atop Amy's on her stomach. Not since before the cataclysm had they ever felt so safe, so assured, and never before had they felt so close to their child. That night, they didn't have to worry. They could revel in their security.

Unbeknownst to them, no one else in the building was sleeping. All twelve of the Killjoys were, at that very moment, finally getting the time to discuss all the crazy events of the past two days in detail.

"Start from the beginning, the _very _beginning," Phoenix requested. "From the moment you left here yesterday morning."

Gerard shifted uncomfortably. Under his black t-shirt, his arms and chest had been hastily bandaged against the damage done by the acid rain, but the memory still made his skin sting. They hadn't had time to do much else for the suffering boy—Chester and Amy had been in much worse condition when they came in, and Joe, the only one trained in any sort of medical practice, had only been able to spare a few short minutes.

"The acid rain caught us at the motel," Frank reported grimly. "Gerard—"

"Code names only," Billie murmured. "They could be listening."

Frank rolled his eyes, but complied. "Sorry, _Poison _had to run through it twice. He was in horrible condition for a while. We weren't sure if he would live."

"Though the van survived the rain somehow," Ray added. "And then there's this."

The taller boy reached behind him and grabbed his leather jacket, laying it out carefully in front of him.

"It's your jacket. So what?" Brad asked.

Ray shook his head, sending his curls bouncing. "Gerard wore it through the rain."

"Whoa!" Brad glanced back at it with renewed interest. "It doesn't look burned…"

"Because it's not," the teen said proudly.

"Dude!" There was a flurry of movement, and the Killjoys gathered around the piece of clothing, staring down at it curiously.

"I'll have to run tests on it," Mike D was murmuring. "Check for which synthetic compounds repel the acid and see if they can be replicated."

"Can you really do that?" Mikey asked, shocked.

The older man smiled. "I'll show you sometime."

"This could totally solve the entire problem of acid rain," Billie exclaimed. "I wonder if BL/ind knows about it!"

"Let's hope not," Rob answered. "God knows we need an advantage over them."

"Still, this is…this is revolutionary," Billie grinned, teeth gleaming.

"Then what happened?" Joe asked.

Billie turned to Gerard. "This is your story, man."

Gerard held his friends captivated as he recounted the whole story of how he'd gotten caught in the van and his race back to the hotel, then how he'd spotted something moving out in the desert on their journey back and found Amy and Chester, half-dead in the sand.

"Then we came back and got you guys, and, well, you know the rest," he finished.

"I can't believe we missed all of that," Brad wondered. "That was some crazy shit you guys went through. That was…that was wow. Jesus."

"All part of being a Killjoy," Gerard smiled weakly.

The group slept late the next morning, exhausted from the nonstop action of the past couple days. It was nearly noon by the time a still-sleepy Billie knocked on everyone's door, shouting that they'd missed the eight o'clock show and whoever's turn it was had better get their asses out of bed that minute or else.

Chester and Amy had been awake for a couple hours already, but had been content to lay half-conscious and wrapped in each others' arms on the tiny bed. When Doctor Death Defying made his rounds, they roused themselves and drifted to the door, peering out into the suddenly bustling hallway.

"Morning!" Ghoul chirped as he dashed past their room. A moment later they heard him yell "Poison, you bastard, where'd you put my raygun after you finished painting it?"

Kobra appeared behind them a moment later, pointing and waving a bright green gun with a white stripe shooting down the side. "I've got it, idiot!" he hollered down the hallway before turning to the confused pair. "Sorry, it gets kind of crazy in the mornings," he apologized.

Amy giggled. "Bit of an understatement," she said, watching a shirtless Wolf run down the other side of the catwalk after Adrenaline, whose hair was messy with bedhead.

"Adrenaline, you fuckwad, what did you do now?" Kobra yelled at the older man, who was now cackling like a maniac as he ran. The younger boy shot them an apologetic smile and began to run after him, too.

"What's going on?" Poison yawned, walking up behind the pair. He stretched his arms over his head leisurely and glanced around at the panic surrounding them.

"I have no idea," Chester muttered.

The jet-haired boy smirked. "Has anybody died yet?"

"Er…" Amy and Chester exchanged worried glances.

He laughed. "Joking. But it does get crazy, having twelve men living in one small area. Well, thirteen men and a woman now. Maybe they'll start calming down for you." He nudged Amy and winked, and she couldn't suppress a giggle. "C'mon, let's get downstairs. It's a bit calmer there."

At the top of the ladder they met up with Ghoul, who had seemingly calmed down. The green raygun was now safely tucked into his belt. He smiled brightly at them.

"So there's a woman in the house now," he said conversationally.

Amy giggled. "You sound excited."

"Oh, I think we all are," the boy exclaimed. "It's been so long since any of us have had a girl in our lives! Maybe we'll actually get some _food _in here!"

"I wouldn't expect too much," Chester chuckled as he followed her down the ladder.

Ghoul frowned. "Why not?"

"She's not very good at cleaning, and God forbid you let her cook," he exclaimed. Amy stuck out her tongue at her fiancé as he reached the ground, helping her off the ladder.

Poison and Ghoul's expressions fell. "Damn," the older boy muttered. "Nothing?"

"Er…I make a mean bowl of cereal," she suggested.

Despite their disappointment, the Killjoys couldn't help but crack up at this.

"I _can _sew, though," she said in an attempt to redeem herself.

"I guess you never know when that will come in handy," Poison grinned.

The pair watched the bustling activity of the Killjoy headquarters, fascinated, as they ate the crushed provisions Poison and Ghoul supplied them with. The older boys narrated the entire scene for them, pointing out when Angel, Jet and Revolution left to make the twelve o'clock radio broadcast, when Kobra came down to practice his shooting skills on the target painted sloppily on the back wall, and when Doctor D, Crash and Detonator left for what they called 'desert patrol,' apparently a quick sweep of the 'Zones' ("That's what Better Living is starting to call Battery City and the surrounding areas," Ghoul told them.) Eventually, Poison, who had been staring at the target longingly for an hour, stood and pulled out his raygun.

"Who wants to learn how to shoot?" he asked cheerfully.

Poison was an amazing shot. Amy and Chester watched in awe as he fired at the target quickly and cleanly, hitting the bulls-eye every time. Ghoul stepped up after a few minutes, but only managed to hit the marking twice, leaving small scorch marks peppered on the wall surrounding it.

"I'm not the best with a raygun," he said apologetically. "Nobody can compare to Poison, though."

"You flatter me, Ghoul," the taller boy laughed, spinning his sunshine-colored gun on his index finger.

"Don't let it go to your head." Ghoul ruffled Poison's hair and pushed him forward, then offered his own green gun to Chester. He took it uncertainly, holding it as if it would explode at any moment.

"That's not how you hold a gun," Poison laughed. "Don't be afraid of it, it won't hurt you unless you _really _suck at shooting."

"Oh, that's reassuring," Chester griped. Still, he tightened his grip on the gun, covering the trigger with his fingers.

Poison grinned. "Better. Now these things have a lot of kickback, so I find it easiest to hold it all the way out for support. Don't shoot if you don't have a clear aim—unless, of course, it's life or death in which case I guess you don't have a choice. Most important, though, is _don't be scared of the gun. _If you get scared, then you won't shoot straight, and stray lasers are the most dangerous things of all."

"Lasers?" Chester gulped, staring down at the green metal with apprehension.

"BL/ind technology is apparently too advanced to use plain old bullets," Poison said grimly. "We wouldn't stand a chance against the Draculoids with regular guns. We're taking whatever we can get from dead Draculoids for now. We've got eight of these babies, but Revolution, Kobra and Detonator—they're the smarter ones—are running tests on one of them to see if we can try to modify them ourselves. Either way, we still need four—or I guess six now—more."

"How do we get them?" Amy asked innocently.

Poison grinned, but it didn't reach his eyes. "We'll have to kill some more Dracs, won't we?"

Amy couldn't shoot for her life. Her aim was for the most part steady, but something about the gun put her on edge. Every time she went to pull the trigger, her arms jerked as if in a reflex reaction and her lasers went wide, hitting all over the walls and even the ceiling. Chester, in contrast, caught on quickly, but still she couldn't shoot properly until when he tried to help.

"Look, hold it like this," Chester murmured, sliding his arms around Amy. "Straight out." His hands covered hers on the grip, their warm fingers lining up on the cool metal.

"Now shoot," he whispered in her ear. "You've got it."

Amy gulped as she moved her index finger to the trigger. Chester's shadowed hers', pressing down lightly, and squeezed the trigger. This time, her aim was true.

"Bulls-eye," he breathed.

Amy spun around in Chester's arms, the gun clattering to the floor, abandoned, as her hands came to rest lightly on his chest. Neither of them could resist the tension a second longer as he enveloped her in a tight embrace, pressing his warm lips onto hers' with a passion neither had felt since they fled from Battery City. Amy felt her knees go weak. She pressed herself closer to Chester, curling her fingers into the material of his shirt, craving the attention, craving the closeness.

Poison coughed rather loudly, and the couple broke apart, blushing bright red. Amy took a step back and stared down at the ground. "Thanks for helping, Chaz," she murmured, a small grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Anytime you want," Chester grinned.

The afternoon passed without incident. Amy's raygun skills improved slightly, but she never managed to recreate the shot Chester had helped her with. By the end of the afternoon, she was able to graze the outer edge of the target. "Good enough for your first time," Poison assured her. "Nobody's perfect at it as soon as they start."

Amy groaned. "But I'm _horrible!_"

"I'll try to give you more help," Chester suggested, but Poison shot him a look.

"You're a distraction. Making out isn't going to help anyone," the older boy said.

"But—"

"No buts," Poison interjected. "Amy's not going to be able to concentrate while you're here. I can give her some guidance. Go…explore the warehouse or something."

He would have protested more, but Amy was nodding, frowning slightly as she turned the gun over in her hands. It was obvious she didn't want him to leave her, but she seemed to think Poison was sufficiently trustworthy and believed that Chester's absence really would help.

He sighed heavily. "I'll be back in fifteen minutes," he murmured. "Good luck, Ames."

"See you soon, Chaz," she answered.

Chester watched for a moment as Amy turned back to the target, Poison lightly guiding her hands into a better position to aim, and then turned away. It wasn't that he didn't trust either of them, it was just that it was his responsibility to protect Amy. They were supposed to stick together always in the face of danger. And, to be honest, he needed Amy there with him—for security and reassurance. She was all he had left. Well, her and his guitar. At least he'd managed to keep his guitar.

He hadn't had time to play his guitar in ages. The instrument was probably dusty and neglected, rested still in it's case up in the room he and Amy had been allotted. But Chester found he was missing his guitar severely all of a sudden. Kobra had said yesterday that one of the rooms on the top floor was a music room—maybe he could get some peace and quiet there.

Chester dashed back up to his room and grabbed the black case, then apprehensively made his way over to the large metal door their young guide had pointed out the night before. There was a sloppy music note splattered onto the front in red paint—Poison's handiwork, no doubt. From what Chester had heard, he was the most artsy of the Killjoys and the one who had colorfully redesigned the rayguns.

He tugged on the handle, letting the door swing inward slowly with a creak. He expected the room to be empty. Instead, another man glanced up at him, looking surprised and strangely guilty. He was seated on a cardboard box with some sort of instrument laid across his lap.

"What are you doing here?" he snapped, glaring at Chester.

"I—I—" Chester stuttered nervously.

"Get _out,_" the Japanese man ordered. In a movement that looked almost subconscious, he clutched his instrument—what looked like a red guitar—closer to him. But something was wrong with it—the neck was flopping limply over his arm, no longer attached properly.

Chester gulped. "But your guitar—"

His glare was shooting more lasers than a raygun ever could. "It's none of your fucking business," the man cried harshly, cradling the broken instrument to his chest.

Every shred of Chester's common sense was telling him to turn his back before he risked provoking the already-furious man even further. He was never sure why, but something possessed him to take a cautious step into the room.

"Can I see it?" he asked softly.

The Asian man bristled. "Fuck no," he snarled.

"Maybe…" Chester swallowed nervously. "Maybe I can fix it."

It had struck a nerve. The man froze, letting the guitar fall limply back into his lap. "Really?" he breathed.

Chester studied the guitar. Paul Reed Smith electric, scuffed but still shining. As he suspected, the neck had broken off, remaining attached only by six very thin nylon strings.

"That happened to my guitar once," Chester murmured, unconsciously drawing his case closer to his body as he spoke. "My brother dropped it. I thought it was broken forever. My dad showed me how to fix it."

"It…you can make it better?" the other man whispered incredulously.

Chester nodded."Do you have any wood glue?"

The man rose slowly, placing the instrument on the box. He led Chester over to a corner of the room where a toolbox lay open, tools and supplies spread haphazardly over the ground.

"I've tried almost everything," he muttered, a note of desperation creeping into his voice. "Nothing works. It always breaks again as soon as I play a note."

"You were probably gluing it in the wrong place," Chester mumbled distractedly as he knelt next to the toolbox. He sifted through the contents, pulling out a small bottle and a screwdriver triumphantly a moment later.

The Asian sighed. "Probably. I just have no idea what to do…"

"How'd it happen?"

The question hung in the air for a moment, heavy and pregnant, before the Killjoy sighed again and handed the instrument to Chester carefully. He pressed his lips together tightly. Chester took this as a sign that he wasn't going to answer, so he bent over the guitar, examining it carefully. The problem was the exact same one he'd had so many years ago—neither half had been broken, but the bolts holding them together had snapped. Thank god he remembered how to fix it.

"It was a Drac." The other man's voice broke the silence a few minutes later. "A Drac stepped on it when we were running away. We got all the other instruments out, but not this one. We were a rock band, you see."

"Really?" Chester pulled away from his work for a moment to glance up at him in interest. "That's pretty damn cool."

The other nodded. "I miss it so much. Playing music just isn't the same when there's no one to listen to it."

"Maybe you could play for us some time," the younger boy suggested softly.

"That would be amazing," the Killjoy sighed. He sounded wistful to Chester as he stared off into space.

Ten quiet minutes later, Chester sat back, grinning. He picked the guitar up and handed it to the older man. "Try it," he said.

The Killjoy seemed almost reluctant, his hands hovering over the fret board tentatively. He bit his lip as he pressed his fingers down. They formed a cautious C chord against the black wood.

His right hand moved down to brush the strings with a feather-light touch. The guitar barely made a sound, but the strings vibrated slightly under the movement. The neck held steady.

He strummed, and the room filled with the sound of a single, beautiful sustained chord. The note vibrated through the space with warmth and purity. A massive grin began to spread across the older man's face. He switched his fingers, playing another chord. Soon, his fingers were flying across the frets, playing an unfamiliar but achingly gorgeous tune. His eyes slid closed as his smile grew. Chester watched in awe.

After a couple minutes, the man stopped, seeming to remember Chester again. "You fixed it," he breathed. Chester shrugged and smiled at him.

"You fixed it! You actually _fixed _it!" The Asian looked like he was about to hug Chester, but instead he only grabbed the younger boy's hand, gripping it tightly.

"Hey, I know what it's like to have a broken instrument," the brunette shrugged. "Hurts like hell. I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

The older seemed unable to stop grinning. "Thank you so much…sorry, I don't know your name," he apologized.

"Chester Bennington," he laughed. "And you?"

"I'm Mi—Angel," the Asian answered.

"I wanna hear you play again sometime, Angel. You're really good."

"You play too?" Angel asked, gesturing to his case.

"Sometimes, yeah."

"Then we should play together, Chester." Angel's eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. And with that simple gesture, Chester sensed he was on his way to being accepted by the Killjoys.


	25. The End is Soon to Come

**OMG. _Worst Author Ever, _I know I know I knowwww ;_; I'm so sorry guys, I'm just so incredibly busy (and incredibly prone to getting sick apparently as well) that I haven't had time till now...at least now it's here?**

CHAPTER 25: HOLD ON LITTLE GIRL, THE END IS SOON TO COME

November 30, 2013

Killjoy Headquarters, Zone 4, California

2:47 PM

November 2013 had to be the longest month of Amy Lee's life.

"How is it possible to suck this much at shooting?" Poison groaned, throwing his hands into the air.

"I'm _trying_!" Amy exclaimed. She stared dejectedly at the green gun. Tomorrow, she would get her own painted by Poison to match her mask as the training month would be finally over, but she still was incapable of hitting the target wall.

"You'll get better soon, Ames," Chester called out from his position leaning against the wall. Poison had ordered him to stand at a far enough distance that he wouldn't 'distract' Amy, but she wasn't sure how the older boy had determined that exact distance. She could still feel his eyes, along with those of Angel and Crash, who were standing with him and chatting, watching as she repeatedly tried and failed to hit the wall.

She perfectly fine at everything else. Over the long, grueling month, she'd learned to operate the radio system and the computer, navigate the wide, empty desert, conduct a safe and productive sweep of Battery City and the Zones, and how to fight Draculoids. Everything had gone smoothly—everything, that is, except the raygun shooting lessons. Amy could not shoot straight for the life of her.

"Maybe I should just give up," she sighed, placing the raygun on the ground. "I'm not going to get better."

"Well, you won't with that attitude," Poison argued. He scooped the weapon back up and held it out to her. She stared at it reluctantly.

"Sooner or later, you're going to have to know how to use it," he said softly. "You'll have to protect yourself…and others."

Amy didn't miss the way his eyes drifted to her stomach, which was swollen beyond belief at this point. She sighed heavily. "Alright. I'll try again."

Chester watched her struggle with the weapon for a few more unsuccessful minutes, before following Angel and Crash to where they'd joined Wolf, Detonator and Surgeon in front of the TV. The five musicians were all raptly watching the screen with grim expressions.

"What's happening?" Chester took a seat next to Angel on the floor, glancing over at his friend curiously.

"More on the uprisings in the North," the Asian muttered. "The old President is gathering the remains of the military. I think they're planning an attack on BL/ind."

"Really?" Chester gawked. He'd known about the situation with the former American President and his closest advisors and Chief of Staff, who had hidden away in a bunker in Utah during the apocalypse. They had only come out of the haven in the past few months, and had immediately tried to rebuild the country. But Better Living Industries had beaten them to it. They already controlled all of California, Nevada and Arizona's survivors, and their influence grew greater with each passing day. The president, of course, wasn't going to let this happen. Or at least, he was trying not to let it happen. BL/ind was proving difficult to overturn, though. The company would not relinquish their grip on the country.

"I hope they get rid of BL/ind," Crash growled. "Maybe this whole mess will finally be over."

"Their army isn't that big," Detonator offered hopefully.

Wolf sighed. "The military is even smaller."

Onscreen, a young adult blandly guided them through a newscast, constantly reiterating that everything was fine and that BL/ind was in complete control of the situation. When the program shifted into a monotone weather report, Surgeon clicked off the TV disinterestedly.

"As long as it doesn't affect us, we can just ignore it," he announced. "There's more important stuff for us to worry about."

Five pairs of eyes shifted to Chester, and he blushed and grinned. "I can't wait for tomorrow," he murmured.

"Did you pick your name yet?" Angel questioned.

The younger nodded. "Amy and I discussed it last night. I was supposed to extend it to two words, right?"

"Everyone else is," Crash chuckled. "Heck, even I did. I'm Gravity Crash now, and he's Detonator Threat. Don't blame us—Adrenaline started it with his raygun obsession."

Chester cracked up at this. Adrenaline, who had fallen in love with the pure black weapon adorned with heart-monitor chart lines, had decided he wanted to change his Killjoy name to reflect it. He had demanded the rest begin to call him Black Adrenaline Raygun, complaining that Doctor Death Defying's name was already longer than everyone else's. Somehow, the trend of extending codenames had become popular.

"Mostly, though, I'm excited for the gun," the boy exclaimed. "Poison—sorry, _Party _Poison—won't stop talking about what he did for mine and Amy's. His designs keep getting crazier."

"He started doing masks, too, did you see? Doctor DS thinks we should start hiding our faces so BL/ind can't identify us," Detonator piped up.

"Jesus, we're turning into a cult," Surgeon muttered.

The conversation was broken by a loud shout from the other end of the room, and Chester jumped up, immediately protective. But instead, Poison was cheering and patting Amy on the back as the girl glanced form the smoking wall to her hands and back again in astonishment.

"Told you you'd get the hang of it eventually," the black-haired man grinned.

Not long after the group ate dinner, Amy retreated upstairs, telling them she was tired and wanted to be rested for the next day. The men immediately agreed, assuming it was pregnancy-related—something that slightly scared them all since they knew nothing about it. In truth, Amy's stomach was in turmoil and she was unable to hide the pain any longer. She tried the best she could not to worry the guys with her pregnancy problems. Sometimes, though, it just got too hard. Now was one such time.

If her suspicions were correct and it _had _been the night of her engagement that she got pregnant, then the nine months would be up soon. At least she and Chester had found the safe place they had sought for so long, and the other twelve Killjoys would help to raise and protect the baby. It was actually as good a place as any for her to finally bring her child into the world.

But, as much as she hated to admit it, she was scared.

Amy tried not to over think it that night. Instead, she let her thoughts become consumed by the next day, when she and Chester would officially become Killjoys. Soon enough she was asleep.

Chester came in an hour later. He couldn't help the involuntary smile at the sight of his peacefully sleeping fiancée, curled up silently across the two twin beds they had pushed together. Her black hair fanned out over the pillow, staining the glowing white with a dark patch, and her pale face shone softly in the sparse moonlight provided by the one window. She looked like a graceful angel lying there, a small smile playing at her pink lips and her arms curled around her stomach.

He smiled gently and kissed her forehead. "Sweet sleep, my dark angel," he whispered.

Amy woke early the next day from a combination of a searing ache in her stomach, a loud commotion outside her door and overwhelming excitement from finally reaching the end of the month. She sprang up, waking Chester with a shake.

"Chaz! Today's the day!" she exclaimed brightly.

"Day?" Chester murmured sleepily, blinking. "What…oh! Right!" He grinned and sat up too.

"C'mon, get up!" Amy laughed and seized his hands, tugging, then suddenly winced. Her face contorted into a mask of pain and she fell back onto the bed with a thump.

"What's wrong? Amy!" Chester exclaimed. His hands fluttered frantically, not sure how to help.

Amy held up a hand weakly. "No, I'm fine," she gasped out. "Just a growing pain. It'll pass."

"Are you sure?" He studied her with worry in his eyes.

"Better already," she whispered. She barely suppressed a moan as she gathered her will and stood again, making her way towards the door and forcing a smile onto her face.

Chester followed her out, frowning slightly and still apprehensive, but his fears were forgotten as the door was pushed open. Twelve ecstatic, wide-awake Killjoys waited with massive smiled plastered across their faces. Angel and Wolf immediately came to stand on either side of him, offering grins and handshakes, while a flurry of words surrounded him and his fiancée. Through the commotion he grasped for Amy's hand, finding it and clutching it tightly. Amy squeezed back in reassurance.

"Downstairs," Doctor D managed to shout over the burst of noise. The group began to migrate towards the ladder, laughing and yelling as they followed each other down the thin metal rails. Amy and Chester remained connected even as they descended. Their expressions never once shifted from pure, unadulterated bliss.

Once everyone was on the ground, Doctor D called for quiet, gesturing Chester and Amy to the front of the room. "Alright, this is the first time we're trying this in the history of the Killjoys," the older man announced. "I should probably have written a speech or a pledge or something. But I guess Amy can help me with that later." Amy grinned at his acknowledgement of her love of writing.

"For now, all I can say is I'm so proud of everyone. When me, Revolution and Adrenaline—or back then we were still Billie, Mike and Tré—came up with the idea, we never thought it would work. At least, we assumed it would be some pathetic, insignificant project, that no one would ever hear us. But look at us now—twelve strong and still growing, and apparently we've even gotten the attention of Better Living itself. Even better, we've actually _beat _them on multiple occasions!"

The group glowed at this. BL/ind had routinely been sending Draculoid patrols into the desert ever since the first incident and the Killjoys had continuously defeated them. They'd become so desensitized to killing the mindless drones by this point that they'd actually started a kill count competition between themselves.

"Because of that, we've had to install some new procedures. We can't just let anyone in anymore like we used to. But Chester and Amy have definitely more than proven themselves trustworthy. We might have had our doubts at first—" at this, Wolf snorted and clapped Chester on the back, grinning widely—"but I think I can say on behalf of us all that we're ready to welcome them into the Killjoys, and into our family."

Doctor Death Defying—or Billie, as Chester and Amy now knew him by—cleared his throat awkwardly. "I don't have a set routine for how to do this. Maybe we'll figure it out for next time. But for now, Chester, what's your chosen Killjoy name?"

"Ghost Revolver," Chester informed him, smiling. He'd thought long and hard about it, and the combination of his progress with rayguns and the memory of those he and Amy had lost on Day Zero led him to his new moniker.

"Good one," Billie said approvingly. "Chester Bennington, do you swear loyalty to the Killjoys and to rebel against Better Living Industries as well as you can and as long as you can?"

"Yeah, I do," the brunette nodded.

"Then I, Doctor Death Defying, name you Ghost Revolver and hereby induct you into the Killjoys," the raven-haired man announced solemnly, turning to Poison. "Gerard, the gun?"

Gerard stepped forward and held out two objects. One was an eye mask similar to those most of the rebels already wore, pitch-black with a white five-point star painted around the left eye hole. The other was the long-awaited raygun.

"Whoa," Chester breathed, reaching for the ebony weapon. It was black as the night sky except for the starburst of white paint splattered onto each side of the body. His fingers curled around the trigger, testing the feel of the gun in his grip. It fit into his palm exactly as if it had been made to fit there.

He looked up at Gerard in awe. "This is _amazing,_" he whispered reverently. "It's _perfect._"

"I thought you'd like it," Gerard shrugged, grinning.

Chester turned the raygun over in his hands a few more times, seemingly content with staring at it until he had memorized every facet of the surface, but Billie cleared his throat.

"Amy, what's your Killjoy name?" he questioned.

The girl looked up at him, seeming to be startled out of some thought or preoccupation. "Oh, right," she murmured. Her words came out oddly strained, as if she was fighting back against something as she spoke.

"Are you okay?" Mike D asked concernedly.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she assured the group. "My Killjoy name. Right. It's Sc—Scream—_shit_!"

And with that, Amy collapsed to the floor in a puddle of liquid that was steadily gathering beneath her form.

"Oh my God!" Chester dropped to his knees next to his fiancée, Billie, Gerard and Joe crowding around the pair soon after. "Amy! _Amy!_ Oh my fucking God, what's _wrong _with her?"

"Her water must have broken!" Joe exclaimed, quickly switching into medic mode. "We have to get her upstairs and into bed _right now, _before anything else happens!"

"What do you mean, before anything else happens?" Chester wailed. "_What's happening?_"

"The baby's coming," Joe replied grimly.

The group drew in a collective gasp. Amy's eyelids fluttered, and a low groan escaped her lips. She writhed on the ground, still unconscious but obviously in pain. Chester stared at his desperate fiancée helplessly.

"What do we do?" Gerard asked frantically.

"We have to get her into a bed before she starts her contractions," Joe ordered. "Believe me, I've been reading about it. The more comfortable we can make her, the better. There's not much we can do except be there for support…"

Mike, Rob, Gerard and Billie all moved toward the girl's form, but Chester waved them away, stooping down to tenderly scoop Amy into his own arms. "Help me up the ladder," he grunted, staggering under her extra weight.

After a torturous climb upstairs, Amy was finally laid down on her own bed and was slowly coming to. Just as her eyes slid completely open, an ear-piercing scream broke the air, and her body convulsed, her hands clutching at nothing and her irises flickering into the back of her head.

"_Amy!_" Chester yelled. He seized one of her fists. "Look at me, Amy! You're alright, darling, I'm right here!"

Sweat shone on the young girl's face as she panted heavily, her breathing fast and labored. She managed to force herself to stare into her fiancé's eyes with difficulty.

"That's it, love!" Chester encouraged. "Just stay focused on me. Forget everything else! Just look at me. Amy, I love you. Amy, _you're going to be fine._"

"Hurts…Chaz…" Amy groaned.

"I know it does," he whispered. Silent tears began to form in the corners of his eyes. "I know, love. I'm so sorry."

"Is there anyone else she's close to that we can bring here? A female relative, a friend? The more support she gets, the better," Joe suggested quietly.

Chester nodded without breaking his gaze. "There's a burned-out college on top of a cliff, five miles north of Battery City. Go to the convenience store and ask for Adrienne Nesser."

Joe turned to the group at large. "He can't go, obviously. I can't because I'm the only one that knows jackshit about giving birth. Somebody needs to go, and _now._"

The Killjoys exchanged nervous glances. All of them wanted to help, of course, but they didn't want to leave Amy, for all of them had grown very fond of the girl over the course of the month. They all wanted to be there for her in case her condition worsened.

Finally, Billie cleared his throat. "I'll go," he volunteered, stepping forward.

Joe frowned. "Are you sure? You're the leader…"

"Which is why I should be the one to do this," the oldest man said. "Mike, you're in charge while I'm gone." The sandy-haired man nodded.

"Good luck, stay safe, and for God's sake keep her alright." Billie couldn't allow a shred of the fear he held for Amy to show as he exited.

"I'll try my best," Joe muttered, dashing to Amy's side. "Guys, I'm going to need your cooperation. This won't be easy."

"Whatever you need us to do," Gerard agreed. Chester had zoned out, seemingly lost in his own little world with only him and Amy. At least he was keeping her partly occupied.

"Mikey, get me the laptop. Gerard and Frank, my medical kit and whatever medicine you can find in the warehouse. Brad and Phoenix, this won't make you happy, but I need you to take the van and check the hotel and gas station for anything at all that will help. Medicine, bandages, ice packs, I don't care. Anything that will help."

The five men rushed from the room without complaint. They knew enough not to argue or linger—Amy's life was too important to jeopardize.

"I'm gonna have to ask you guys to leave," Joe said apologetically, gesturing to the rest of his group. "We're gonna have to get her clothes off, and as much as we all care about her, we can't really ask her if she'd want you here. It's safer if you go. Chester, of course, you can stay."

Chester didn't acknowledge the comment as the rest of the men filed out of the room, still focusing all his attention on the sweaty, shivering figure atop the bed. He spared one distracted smile for Ray ion response to the curly-haired man's reassuring but worried grin. The door banged shit behind them with a sense of finality. They had no way of knowing what was going on with the trio behind the doors.

They could only hope for the best.

Meanwhile, Billie was racing across the dusty desert highway at nearly 100 miles per hour. The Trans Am was being pushed to its' limit, and yet the black-haired man still pressed the gas pedal further, urging the small vehicle towards the city at an even faster rate. He didn't allow his thoughts to deviate from the task at hand—he had to go find this Adrienne woman, and _now, _before it was too late.

He desperately wished he had some way of contacting the base, but they'd decided cell phones were too risky and easily traceable. Besides, Mikey and Joe were the only ones who still had the devices, and there were certainly none in Battery City. BL/ind probably didn't want citizens contacting each other without permission. The best he could do for now was tune into the radio station and pray that if there were any major developments, somebody would think of broadcasting them to the Killjoys' listeners.

The static finally crackled away into Brad's familiar voice when he was an hour away from Battery City, making Billie jump in his seat and his heart beat faster. He'd been away from the base for two hours…labor wasn't _that _short, was it? Amy had to be fine!

But all that he said was that there was an emergency at the base and radio broadcasts would be few and far between, and then new Killjoys they had spoken of would be introduced at a later date instead. He signed off by saying he and Detonator were out to look for medicine because they had no medical supplies at the base.

Billie sighed frustratedly. That was barely enough to tell him anything. Consumed with worry, he slammed on the gas pedal. He managed to cover the remaining distance in only forty-five minutes.

"College on a cliff," he muttered to himself under his breath, steering the Trans Am onto a winding road that led up a steep hill. "Convenience store. Adrienne Nesser."

_Please be alright, Amy. _

It wasn't hard to find the convenience store. There were only two buildings on top of the bare, windblown cliff, and one of them was a hulking skeleton of what must have once been a massive building. A small, broken-down 7-11 sat only a few yards away, overshadowed by the large building next to it. That had to be his destination.

Billie cut the engine and stepped out, running a hand through his pitch-black hair. _Adrienne Nesser, _he thought to himself once more as he pulled open the door.

A chime jangled and the woman at the counter looked up. Billie was suddenly caught in a piercing hazel gaze as she stared at him, immediately suspicious and on-guard. Black hair fell to her shoulders in dreadlocks, and her face was delicately feminine and yet somehow strong as well. The contrast fascinated Billie. _She _fascinated him.

"Can I help you?" she questioned, and Billie realized he had been staring at her.

He cleared his throat. "I'm looking for Adrienne Nesser."

"You've found her." The woman arched an eyebrow at him.

Billie nodded. Of course. He could see the resemblance now—Amy and Adrienne must be related. It was in their faces, their expressions. No wonder Amy would want her sister there.

Adrienne coughed rather loudly, tapping a red nail against the countertop. "Why do you need me?" she questioned.

"It's Amy," Billie said.

He'd guessed her reaction correctly. Adrienne sprang to her feet, immediately alert and on-edge. "What about Amy?" she demanded.

"She's gone into labor," Billie said grimly.

Adrienne stared at him for a moment, then locked down the cash register and grabbed her coat. She ducked under the counter and emerged in front of Billie.

"Take me to her," she ordered.


	26. Remember You're Loved and Always Will Be

**Hey look it's out on time :D who's proud of me?**

**This week has been long...writing has been the only thing keeping me going. Hope you guys enjoy the update!**

CHAPTER 26: REMEMBER YOU'RE LOVED AND ALWAYS WILL BE

December 1, 2013

Killjoy Headquarters, Zone 4, California

2:36 PM

Five hours. It had been five hours since Chester became a Killjoy, since Amy had gone into labor, and since Billie had left to find Adrienne. He still wasn't back, but it usually took four hours to get to the heart of the city. Chester would have been worried, but he had more important things to fret over.

Five hours. Five torturous hours he'd had to watch Amy suffer though the waves of painful contractions washing over her body, watch as she gritted her teeth and bit back screams. It was worst when she couldn't hold back the screams. They wrenched from her body like sonic bullets, shooting straight to his heart.

It had also been five hours since he'd had any feeling in his hand. The tightness with which Amy was squeezing was enough to cut off circulation. He couldn't complain, though—he knew it could only be a fraction of the pain she was feeling.

"She's eight inches dilated," Joe reported, his nose stuck in a musty medical textbook he must have dragged back with him from the city once. "That means she's got…maybe three or four hours to go?"

Chester and Amy both groaned at this. "I just want it to _stop,_" Amy moaned weakly, before her mouth snapped shut and her jaw clenched.

"Is there anything we can do to make it go faster?" Chester begged.

Joe sighed. "Not that I know of. The only thing I can do is keep giving her painkillers; at least they help a little…"

"And the IV?" the brunette questioned, his eyes following the clear tube from where it was inserted into the crook of Amy's arm to where it connected to the plastic bag hanging from the bed.

"Thank God Phi found that," Joe said. "It'll stabilize her condition and hopefully assure she gets enough energy."

Chester grimaced and looked back down to his girlfriend, lifting a hand to sweep long strands of sweaty black hair out of her face. "I'm sorry, darling," he whispered.

"Not your fault…" Amy murmured. "And…and I'm happy…so happy…" her thought trailed off as another contraction began.

"It'll be over soon," he promised, rubbing his thumb over her hand comfortingly.

"It's worth it," she gasped out. "It's worth it. It's worth it."

This was Amy's mantra. When the pain became nearly overwhelming and all she wanted to do was sink into oblivion, she remembered why it was that this was happening. She reminded herself of the end result. She was doing this for the baby, and it would all be worth it. Or at least, she hoped it would be.

The three in the tiny room suffered through five more sets of heart-rending contractions, each one worse than the last. The ordeal lasted nearly an hour more. Finally, Amy gasped out "Is it almost time yet?"

Joe consulted his medical book again and asked Amy a few technical-sounding questions, which she could barely answer though the haze of fatigue and pain descending over her eyes. Finally, he announced, "On the next contraction, you need to push as hard as you can."

Amy wasn't sure how to feel about his instructions. On one hand, it would soon be over, but on the other…she was already tired and in pain. To actually make an effort to reclaim control of her body, to _give birth,_ would certainly hurt a thousand times more. She was scared. She was a scared, seventeen-year-old girl who was not ready to give birth.

But if there was one thing Amy was sure of, it was that she was ready to be a mother. And it was this single thought that propelled her through the ensuing chaos.

"Get ready," Joe warned. "It's going to start again—"

But his words were cut off by a loud cry from outside the door. The voice, which was strangely familiar Amy, yelled something like "_I want to see my sister!_" before the door banged open and a very disheveled, frantic Adrienne stood in the doorway.

"Adie," Amy whispered, smiling weakly. "You came."

It was all Adrienne could do to bite back the shocked gasp bubbling up in her throat. Her half-sister looked…horrible. Amy was pale as a ghost, and her black hair was matted to her sweaty forehead. He bright blue eyes were sunken into hollow, spent cheeks. But shill she was grinning with all the energy she had left.

The woman felt a hand on her shoulder, and she realized Billie was standing behind her with the same expression on his face. The small gesture gave her enough confidence to home into the small pristine room. Almost subconsciously, she slid her hand into his as she moved forward.

She gulped. "Hey, Ames," she murmured, forcing a smile onto her face.

"You're gonna be an aunt soon," Amy commented. Her eyes slid closed for a moment in an expression of intense concentration, and her small grunt of pain didn't go unnoticed by anyone.

"You have to push in a minute, Amy," Joe reminded her gently.

The girl's slight smile morphed into a grimace. "Maybe sooner than you think," she muttered.

Adrienne reached for her sibling's hand, taking hold on the one that wasn't clutching Chester's. She still kept hold of Billie's with her left hand. The four formed a chain of support centered on the girl lying on the bed as Joe counted down: "Three…two…one…"

"Now, Amy," he exclaimed. "Now. Push!"

Amy's eyes screwed shut tightly. Her hands clenched around Chester's and Adrienne's on either side of her in a tighter grip than either of them had thought she was capable of. There was a beat, and her scream broke the air, loud and piercing. The sound triggered a mass of knocks and shouts on the door, but they were left unnoticed as Joe encouraged her to push again.

Five torturous minutes later, the Asian doctor exclaimed "I can see the head!"

"Hear that, Amy?" Chester gasped, brushing back her hair. "It's almost over! Just a little farther, darling!"

All she could do was moan and push.

"C'mon, c'mon," Joe muttered. Amy clutched Adrienne's hand. Adrienne clutched Billie's, and Billie squeezed back, offering as much assurance as he could to the girl that was every bit as scared as her sister.

Amy screamed again, and it was the most terrifying sound any of them had ever heard. Billie had to resist the urge to cover his ears. Adrienne's knuckles turned white from the ferocity with which she was clutching his hand. Joe braced himself and waited. Chester prayed silently, running his thumb over Amy's hand. Amy could do nothing. She could not even think though the pain.

Utter silence fell over the room. Nobody spoke. Nobody even breathed.

And then the high-pitched cry of a baby broke the still, fragile silence.

"Oh my God," Chester breathed. Amy collapsed back onto the bed, devoid of all energy, but a proud, ecstatic smile was sliding over her face to encompass all of her features.

Joe lifted his hands from the bed, where they were cradling something small and slimy. Billie silently passed him the towel that was hanging off the bed rail. The Asian smiled at him gratefully and swathed the baby in the fabric, gently placing it into Amy's arms.

"It's a girl," he murmured. "Congratulations."

Amy tenderly lifted a hand to brush the towel away from the infant's head, revealing a tiny, wrinkled pink face. The baby blinked up at her with big stunningly-blue eyes.

"Chester," Amy whispered. "We have a daughter." There was a note of incredulity in her voice, as if she was in disbelief that she'd actually been able to give life to the being in her arms.

"I know," Chester murmured.

"What should we name her?" the girl questioned, a gentle, maternal smile painted across her sweat-soaked features.

Chester pondered the question for a moment, staring down at his daughter's tiny face. "She's like a gift from God," he finally said.

"Grace," the couple breathed in sync.

Amy's smile widened. "Grace, my Gracie," she cooed, wiggling her finger in front of the infant's face. Grace gurgled and watched it with attentive eyes. Her tiny hands curled around the digit, playing with her shiny blue engagement ring.

"Grace Adrienne Bennington," Chester announced. A noise halfway between a laugh and a sob caught in Adrienne's throat, and she grinned at them with tears in her eyes.

"Adie, will you be the godmother?" he continued.

"Of course," the older woman choked out.

"And Billie, her godfather?" Amy requested, her gaze still locked in Grace's.

Billie grinned at her. "I'd be honored."

There was a loud bang on the door, and somebody shouted, "Is she okay? Can we come in yet?"

"We're good," Joe called back.

The door flew open, and a crowd of Killjoys came stumbling through the door, pushing to crowd around the bed and stare down at the happy teenage family. Amy glowed as she accepted congratulations and hugs, holding up Grace for her friends to see but keeping a hold of her daughter to make sure she stayed safe. Grace burbled happily and waved tiny wrinkled fists at her new family while Chester looked on proudly.

Finally, both Amy's and Grace's eyelids began to flutter closed from exhaustion. Joe noticed this and began to usher the group out of the room, each wishing the happy couple a last congratulations as they left. Billie and Adrienne shuffled out last after Billie assured Amy they'd get around to her official Killjoy induction as soon as she'd had time to recover. "You've had quite an afternoon," he winked, and hugged her gently, stopping to pat Chester on the back before lightly laying a hand on the small of Adrienne's back. A barely noticeable smile popped onto Adrienne's face. Neither gesture went unnoticed by her sister, and Amy giggled as she waved goodbye.

"They are _so _into each other," she laughed as soon as the pair had closed the door gently behind them.

"Good for them, they deserve it," Chester answered. "Just another good thing that came of today."

"Lots of good things happened today, _Ghost Revolver,_" teased Amy, poking his arm jokingly.

"Lots," he agreed. His sight dropped to his baby, cuddled lovingly against Amy's stomach. Grace was still awake, but just barely, her stubby black lashes fluttering over her sleepy blue eyes. She blinked up at her father innocently.

Chester leaned down and kissed Grace's forehead, then Amy's. "I love you," he whispered. "Both of you. I love you so, so much."

Grace's arms lifted slightly and she flexed her tiny fingers. She blinked at Chester and Amy again before abruptly falling asleep.

Amy giggled. "She's so perfect," she whispered, stroking Grace's cheek gently.

"Probably because she has a perfect mother," he smiled.

She yawned. "I think it has more to do with her flawless father."

"I think it's time for my perfect family to get some sleep," Chester teased, intertwining his fingers with hers' on top of the blankets. "Sleep now, my Amy. Everything's alright. We're safe."

"Mmm…" Amy murmured. She allowed herself to sink back into the pile of pillows stacked behind her head. She really was exhausted. The day had taken its' toll on her, and now all she wanted to do was give into slumber, her baby safe in her arms and her fiancé close by her side.

As she was slipping between the realms of reality and unconsciousness, a very familiar voice drifted into her mind. It was singing words that she could recite from memory in an achingly sweet tone.

"_Give me a smile, give me your name, girl. Let them know that you're mine…_"

And as Amy slept, she smiled for him.

Chester didn't take his eyes off of Amy as he sang her to sleep. He knew she must have heard him, because a peaceful smile had drifted onto her face the moment he'd began.

Even though he knew she was sound asleep, he continued with the song, wondering if she could hear it in her dreams even now. He wished he had his guitar, but it was stored in the music room at the end of the hallway, and he didn't want to leave Amy's side. Besides, exhaustion was overtaking the teenage boy, too—the day had been as emotionally taxing to him as it had been physically difficult on Amy.

He yawned conspicuously as he neared the end of the song, but still finished with a whisper of "You're my whole life" as he gazed lovingly at the two girls on the bed. Grace was sleeping silently, not moving a single muscle as she slumbered, and a lock of black hair fluttered off Amy's forehead with each breath. He had never seen a more perfect sight.

"You're my whole life," he repeated quietly before laying his head next to Amy's and falling asleep in the chair.

Outside the room, the mood was completely opposite their peaceful slumber. A feeling of explosive celebration had overtaken the Killjoys, and the only thing that calmed them slightly was the thought that they couldn't be so loud as to wake the new family upstairs. But all the same, the TV was on, the food supply was being raided, the cans of paint reserved for rayguns somehow open and being splattered on the walls. Billie and Adrienne stood in the center of the chaos, at the heart of the group and yet somehow removed from it all.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay a bit longer?" Billie questioned.

Adrienne sighed. "I have to get back to the college. I'm important there—they _need _me. If I'm away for too long, I could lose my job with BL/ind."

"You do realize you're a major security leak for us now," Billie said, half playful and half dead serious.

She snorted loudly. "Like I'd tell any of those fuckers! I think what you're doing out here is amazing. Someday, the world's gonna need you. I hope you're still around for it."

"I think we all hope that," he replied. "But seriously…you won't tell?"

"Of course not," Adrienne assured him.

Billie grinned widely, his emerald eyes flashing. "Knew I could trust you," he commented nudging her arm playfully.

Adrienne smirked. "Oh, really? Even though I work for BL/ind?"

"Anyone who looks like you has to be cool," the black-haired man laughed.

She raised an eyebrow. "Looks like _me?_ What exactly do you mean by that?"

"Er…well…" Billie blushed, blood rising in his pale cheeks. "Your…hair? And the tattoos, those are pretty fucking wicked. And just the whole…"

"Scary punk girl thing?" she smirked.

"I was going to use a different word, but yeah," he admitted.

Adrienne was now desperately curious as to what he was going to say, but Billie was suddenly very interested in what Frank, Gerard, Mikey and Ray were doing with a can of black paint and the back wall. The red tint still hadn't completely faded from his cheeks. Was she making him _nervous?_

She cleared her throat, anxious to break the awkward silence. "So, um, I need a ride back," she commented. "Preferably sooner than later."

Billie seemed to snap out of his daze. "Oh, I'll drive you," he offered. "What do you do there, anyway?"

"I'm in charge of food for the whole college community," she answered, sounding a bit reluctant.

He whistled. "That's pretty high up in the company."

"I hate it," she grimaced. "The leaders get so much food, and the workers hardly any. All the medicine and supplies I sell are crazy expensive, too. BL/ind is so corrupt it's not even funny."

"Well, that's why we're here," Billie said softly.

Adrienne sighed. "I wish I could do something to help."

A sudden idea struck the Killjoy leader and he grinned. "You can," he said slowly.

"Huh?" Adrienne glanced up.

"Be our spy. Be the eyes and the ears of the Killjoys in the city. Tell us anything you find out."

"How am I supposed to tell you, though?" she asked. Billie could see she was already beginning to consider her request—her pretty hazel eyes were sparkling with excitement, and she had straightened her posture, obviously interested and attentive.

"We come out to the city once a week to look for food. I'll meet you then."

"Oh, that's silly." Adrienne laughed, and Billie found himself hurt.

"What's wrong with it?" he asked sullenly.

She giggled. "Not your plan—that sounds good. But BL/ind's already picked the city over for anything edible or helpful. You're not going to find anything else out there."

Billie gritted his teeth angrily. "So that's why we're starving?"

"Here's an idea: try getting food from an actual BL/ind source," she suggested.

"Like…?"

"Me," she stated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

He gawked. "You'd do that? Risk your job for us?"

"Hey, if you're taking care of my sister and niece, I'll have to repay you somehow," she shrugged.

He grinned widely. "Thanks, Adrienne. Thank you so much."

"You still owe me a ride back," she laughed. "And I prefer Adie."

On impulse, Adie stood on her tiptoes and kissed Billie's stubbly cheek, letting her fingers brush against the back of his hand lightly. The poor man had barely recovered from his last bout of blushing before the redness returned anew at her actions.

"They are so into each other," Mike D commented from where he sat on a couch a fair distance away from the couple.

"Completely," Tré commented. "Damn. Wish it was me. I miss girls."

"Don't we all," sighed Mike.

Tré's gaze wandered over to Brad and Phoenix, who had managed to squeeze themselves into the recliner next to him and were tangled together, grinning.

"Alright, not _everyone,_" Mike amended.

Tré grinned. "Least it's exciting out here. Like a video game or some shit, and we're superheroes. Only we don't wear tights."

"I don't think anyone wants to see you in tights," Mike snorted.

The other man rolled his eyes. "I'm sure you want a piece of this, Dirnt. Admit it."

Mike made a face and visibly recoiled.

"You're so freaky, Tré," Gerard called out. He poked the tip of his tongue out as he moved his paintbrush over the corrugated metal wall, splashing black paint on as he shaped the third leg of a massive spider. The doodled logo had spread from the hood of the Trans Am to rayguns, documents and now even the walls of the Killjoys' haunt. If BL/ind's symbols were monochrome and bland, smiling faces, then the Killjoys' were bursting color and spiky, angular arachnids.

"We'd all have to be freaky to come out here," Tré yelled back. "Embrace the crazy, Party Poison. Let it out."

Gerard stuck out his tongue at the older man. "And you wonder why Billie made _me _second-in-command?"

Frank, Ray and Mikey cracked up, watching Tré and Gerard's banter as if it was a fascinating TV show. They had all been in Gerard's place at least once since they joined—arguing some unimportant point against Tré, whose arguments never made much sense to any of them that much.

"You're mean," Tré pouted, crossing his arms and sinking back into the couch. Gerard grinned at him mockingly and turned back to the wall, where he had just started the last leg on the spider's left side.

"Where'd Rob and Mike go, anyway?" Frank asked to no one in particular.

Ray shrugged. "Who ever knows with those two? At least they'll be keeping each other safe."

It was true that Rob and Mike spent an uncanny amount of time together, almost as if they were attached at the hip, but they had been through a lot together. It was only natural for best friends like them to hang out a lot-or so the rest of the Killjoys reasoned. Besides, they trusted the pair to tell them if anything important happened.

All Rob and Mike were doing, of course, was going over some of Xero's old songs in the room reserved for music upstairs. But that day, none of the Killjoys could be unhappy. A new era had begun in the life of the rebel movement-the era when they moved from a group flung together out of necessity to a true family.


	27. This Planet's Ours To Defend

**First off: Sorry this is late ;_; **

**Secondly: No update next week ;_; **

**Both of the above are due to Odyssey of the Mind (it's quite complicated to explain-if you're interested, google it!) and the fact that myself and four of my best friends are going to be flying out to Iowa on Tuesday for World Finals! We'll be there till next Monday and I won't have access to my home computer, hence I can't get to my files for Sing and can't update. I'll update as soon as I can-that Monday? Tuesday? Something like that-but just so nobody gets worried and thinks I died, next week will have a late update XD**

**Aaand now here's this week's installment in the tale of the Fabulous Killjoys! :D**

CHAPTER 27: THIS PLANET'S OURS TO DEFEND

February 23, 2014

Zone 3, California

12:17 PM

Adrenaline pumped through Ray's veins. His heart was in his throat, its' incessant pounding deafening in his head,. He whirled and fired over his shoulder, not even stopping to listen for the Drac's pained cry as it fell. His feet hit the sand with an erratic rhythm. Sun poured down on him relentlessly, soaking his mass of curly hair with burning sunshine.

He heaved in a deep breath and stopped, inching backwards until his back was aligned with Mikey's. He could feel the younger boy trembling as he aimed and fired, aimed and fired, over and over. There were sporadic screams whenever he found his mark.

He couldn't see Billie, Rob or Amy, and the thought made him shudder. Billie and Rob could take care of themselves, but Amy was still vulnerable, recovering from her pregnancy and unable to shoot straight. That morning, when she had left with Ray to sweep the Zones, Chester had begged him to take care of her. It was her first major mission since giving birth. He'd promised to take care of her…

A quick, dark flash in the corner of his field of vision, and Ray sighed in relief. Billie was covering her while she darted towards him and Mikey. She must be following his instructions—if they were in danger, seek him out.

Ray redoubled his efforts, spraying lasers over the scene below him. BL/ind was upping the ante. He and Amy had stumbled across a horde of Draculoids on the inner edge of Zone 3, and had barely had time to radio for help before they were overwhelmed. Thank God that Billie, Mikey and Rob were nearby, making a broadcast.

"Rob's down!" Mikey shouted, and Ray whipped his head around. Sure enough, the brunette drummer was collapsed on the sand, vivid red blood staining the sleeve of his t-shirt. At least it didn't look fatal—but still, a friend hurt, a fighter down. They had to end this, and soon.

Amy had almost reached the top of the sand dune where he and Mikey stood, but abruptly, she turned around and began sprinting back down the hill at Mikey's yell. Her deep violet raygun flashed as she whipped it out of its holster.

"Amy, _no!_" Ray roared, but she didn't listen. She stumbled as she hit flat ground again and skidded to a stop. Her gaze traveled up slowly until she was looking into the eyes of the Draculoid who had shot Rob.

Only it wasn't a Draculoid.

The figure wore all white just as a Draculoid did, but its' uniform was thicker, its' mask different. Instead of a latex Halloween mask, its' head was covered with what seemed to be a body bag with BL/ind's logo painted over the place where its' face would be. It tilted its' head down to stare at the terrified girl in front of him with oddly jerky, robotic movements. There was one word printed in black over its' left pocket:

_S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W._

In a lightning-fast reflex, its' massive white gun was in its' hands and trained on Amy, just as hers' was trained on its' head. Amy began to back away and towards Rob ever-so-slowly. Ray shot at the robotic Draculoid, but the lasers went wide as it dodged them easily, still advancing on the female Killjoy.

"Wh-what are you?" she choked out desperately.

"S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W Unit 182," it droned. "Experimental Mission 3, test run. Seek and destroy all threats to perfect order."

"You're not human!" the girl cried out. And Ray could see she was right—because of the precise, jerking movements, the toneless voice, the exact programmed language it had just used.

Better Living Industries had developed a new, dangerous weapon. An army of cold, efficient, emotionless soldiers.

An army of robots.

"Target detected," the robot intoned, its' arms jerking up to lock into place in front of it. Amy scrambled back desperately, one arm holding her raygun up in protection and the other shielding her face.

"Run!" Ray screamed at her. "Run, Amy! Get the fuck out!"

There was a high-pitched, keening _bang _familiar to all the Killjoys as a raygun firing. Ray's stomach lurched sickeningly. He had failed. Amy was dead, Grace was motherless, Chester would be heartbroken—

But instead, the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W stepped back, its' left arm smoking. It lifted its' right arm almost as if it was confused. Amy didn't spare it another glance as she slung Rob's arm around her shoulders and sprinted for the Trans Am, half-dragging him behind her.

"Jet! Behind you!" Mikey yelled, and the sound of his Killjoy name dragged Ray back into the battle. He downed the three Draculoids advancing on their dune with ease, and while the robot drone was still recovering, grabbed hold of Mikey's arm and tugged him towards the van. Amy had already revved the Trans Am's engine and was speeding back towards the base with Rob in the passenger seat. Billie caught sight of them and beat a hasty retreat, diving into the backseat of the van as he fired a final round of shots at the Draculoids. They fell, but the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W unit was still up, lurching towards them with frighteningly determined staggers.

"Step on it," Mikey gasped, and Ray did.

The van shot down the road after the Trans Am like a bullet out of a gun. The radio Mikey and Chester had installed in all Killjoy vehicles crackled, and Amy's voice burst through the speakers.

"Is everyone okay?" she asked shakily.

Ray picked up the tiny inter-vehicle transmitter. "Doctor Death Defying, Kobra Kid and Jet Star are fine," he reported as Billie flashed him a weak thumbs-up from the back.

"Rust Wolf and Screaming Sunshine are alive too. Wolf's right arm took a raygun laser and he needs to get back to the base for medical aid, but we're all alive…"

Amy exhaled deeply though the speaker. The sound was uneven and shaky, as though she'd been holding her breath since her brush with BL/ind's robot drone. "What _was _that thing?" she muttered.

"Dangerous," Ray replied grimly.

She sighed. "I couldn't kill it."

"It's alright," he reassured her. "You did amazing—better than what I could've cone, I'm sure. None of us could kill that on our own. BL/ind's too strong for us to take on alone."

"It's seen our faces…Wolf's and mine, at least," she murmured.

"We're safe as long as it doesn't have our real names. They can't easily identify us without—" Ray's sentence cut off suddenly and he clutched the steering wheel in horror.

"What's wrong? Jet!" Amy exclaimed worriedly.

"I didn't use your Killjoy name," he whispered slowly. "I was too worried. You were in danger. I forgot—twice. I called…I called you Amy."

Amy sucked in a deep breath quickly. There was a clatter, and Rob's voice burst through the speaker a moment later. "She's fine—just concentrating on driving," he reported. "But…do you think it heard?"

"I shouted it pretty damn loudly," Ray mumbled.

"But…it's not alive. It's a robot. Could it have understood?"

"I hope not," he said grimly.

The drive back was spent mostly in silence. The only time any of the shaken and frightened Killjoys spoke was to compare notes on the drone they'd encountered—its' robotic voice and movements; the extreme strength Rob had witnessed when the drone first snuck up and seized him from behind; the patch with S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W sewn above the left pocket on its' chest, where its' heart would have been if it had one. The only conclusion they could come to was that BL/ind was evolving faster than them. _Too _fast. Their technology was advancing as if it was designed to exterminate the Killjoys. If their rayguns didn't work against it, they were completely fucked.

The entire group of Killjoys was waiting outside the base when the five arrived home. Their faces were pale and drawn with worry. Even Tré, who never dropped his joking demeanor, was looking seriously worried.

The moment Amy stepped out of the car, Chester ran over to her. His expression transformed from fear to relief. Grace reached out tiny arms to her father from her place in Frank's arms, and the teenager complied, carrying the baby towards her embracing parents.

"I was so worried," Chester whispered harshly, pressing his face into the top of her deep black head of hair. "You were late. Two hours late. I thought you had—"

"I'm okay, I'm okay," Amy soothed. Her hands stroked comfortingly over his back.

"Where were you?" he questioned.

Amy pulled back, leaving one of her hands interlocked with his, and turned to take Grace from Frank's arms. Grace gurgled happily and clutched a fistful of her mother's dark hair.

She smiled down at her daughter tenderly before looking up to address the crowd of men before her. "Better Living's getting stronger," she announced grimly. "They've got new soldiers. Robots. I couldn't kill it, and it knows my name."

"_Robots?_" Mike D repeated incredulously.

Billie joined the worried young family, Mikey, Ray and Rob trailing him. Rob's arm hung limply at his side and his sleeve was soaked with red. Mike S rushed to his side.

"We think they're called Scarecrows," the leader reported.

"They…but…_robots?_" Mike D repeated again. He blinked at his best friend in disbelief.

"Looks like it," Billie affirmed.

The other shook his head. "They're too smart," he muttered. "To have this level of technology, and use it for something like that…they can't only be doing this because of us. We're not that big of a threat. There has to be an ulterior motive."

"I really don't think any of us want to think about BL/ind's ulterior motives right now," Ray groaned. He stumbled towards the warehouse tiredly, running a hand through his tangled hair.

"We might have to," Gerard replied.

Ray looked up at him, suddenly on edge. "Why? What's happening?"

The black-haired boy's expression turned serious. "It's easier to let the television do the talking."

Ray and Mikey exchanged confused looks. That didn't sound good at all.

The curly-haired Killjoy was struck with the sudden feeling of sobriety hanging over the group as they made their way inside the building and to the meeting area, filled with half-destroyed couches and armchairs with stuffing falling out. Amy and Chester curled into one armchair with Grace resting in a cradle formed by their arms, the young girl's face fearful and drawn. Gerard, Frank and Mikey fell onto a red couch, tugging Ray after them.

"They've been playing these clips all day," Mike D informed them as he clicked on the TV. "I don't know what it means for us, or for Battery City, or for the world. But it's not good."

The man fell into silence as the screen faded from static into an image of the calm Japanese female reporter they all recognized so well—Airi Isoda, BL/ind's major vehicle for propaganda on the airwaves.

"Citizens are encouraged to stay calm," she was saying in a smooth, hypnotic voice. "There is nothing to worry about. Better Living Industries will protect its' customers."

"Protect against _what?_" Mikey burst angrily. His brother shushed him, his face pale and flickering by the light of the screen.

The image flashed to a different face, this time an Asian man standing in front of a towering mountain range. The bottom of the screen read Correspondent Ryu Amane, Utah.

"The former President of the United States emerged from his bunker here in the Rocky Mountains today and has challenged the world's new order," he reported. "He and the remains of the American Army have been targeted as a threat to peace and are being dealt with. There is no reason to worry."

Ray's jaw visibly dropped as he stared at the screen. Mikey removed his glasses and rubbed them on his shirt, as if he was sure he had misunderstood the image because his sight was blurry. Rob let out a low moan.

"They're targeting the _army?_" Billie whispered incredulously.

Mike D's expression was set in an angry scowl. "They've gone too far," he muttered. "But it's been on repeat all day—they're seriously planning to fight the Army. They're taking all power away from the real government."

"But they _can't_," The Killjoy leader protested. "People would never listen. Even citizens from Battery City would realize this is dangerous."

Gerard sighed. "That's why Frank and I think they've got them under some kind of mind control."

"_Mind control?_" Amy, Ray and Mikey gasped. Billie stared at the boy as if he was crazy.

"They keep flashing little messages at the bottom of the screen about taking some kind o f pill every day," Frank said dryly. "None of us have any idea what they're talking about, but it's suspicious to say the least."

Amy gasped suddenly and sprang up, waking Grace as she dumped the baby into her boyfriend's arms. "I do," she said, and dashed for the ladder.

"What the fuck is she talking about?" Ray asked tiredly.

Chester shrugged. "Who knows."

The girl reappeared a moment later, clutching something in her left fist. She opened her hand to reveal a small, clear pill bottle resting in her palm, the label printed simply with BL/ind and the smiling logo.

"Chester and I used to get these every week when we were working for BL/ind," she explained. "I never took them cause of Grace. Chester did once, but it scared the fuck out of me. He wasn't hi9kmself."

"Wasn't himself?" Billie asked sharply. "How so?"

"He'd agree to everything, I said, no complaints, and he was always so tired. It was like he wasn't interested in anything—like his emotions were being suppressed." A small shudder ran through her body, and she glanced at Chester as if to reassure herself he was still alright.

Chester frowned. "I didn't even notice it was happening."

In a unanimous motion, the circle of Killjoys backed away from Amy, who was still holding the bottle as if it was toxic. They stared, repulsed, at the small object in her pale palm.

"It can't be." Billie shook his head. "It can't. There's no way."

"It's the only way," Amy replied grimly.

"But…mind control?" he hissed. "Suppressing emotions? That has to be illegal!"

"BL/ind's the one making the laws now," Tré reminded his friend.

Billie stepped forward tentatively and lifted the bottle from Amy's outstretched hand. He stared at it hard, eyeing it with apprehension and disgust, then twisted the cap off and let seven small, blue-and-white pills spill into his cupped palm.

He turned to Mike D. "Can you run tests on them with your science shit?"

"Should do," the other nodded. "Mikey, Chaz, Phi, we've got a new project."

The three men nodded stoically, looking less than enthusiastic. As the ones who were the smartest or best with tools and mechanics, they helped Mike with his scientific and technical projects. Phoenix had an affinity for chemistry and explosives in particular, Chester was good with mechanics because of his car-mechanic father, and Mikey was simply a teenage genius.

Billie carefully replaced the pills in the tiny bottle and held it out to Mike D, who seemed reluctant to touch it, but pocketed the suspicious medication anyway. They retreated to their seats, Amy dropping back into the armchair next to Chester and reclaiming Grace from his arms. She immediately began to soothe the baby back to sleep.

Gerard sighed heavily. "There's too much shit to deal with today. First the Scarecrow, then the president, now this. They're crazy. They can't get away with all of this."

"But they are," Mikey murmured, sinking farther into the couch between his brother and Ray.

"The _real_ government will stop them…right?" he questioned, his tone pleading. None of his friends answered. They were all as unsure as he was.

"We can't be sure of anything anymore," Billie said grimly. "We are the only ones left we can trust. Us fourteen people—the Killjoys—we're all we have left."

Amy sniffed and clutched Grace tighter. She'd known, ever since she fled Battery City, that there was a very small chance of ever returning—but still, she'd held some small hope that once she turned twenty-one, she, Chester and Grace could go back to their old lift and Grace could grow up like a normal child. She now knew that was impossible. Returning to Battery City would mean willingly going along with BL/ind's vicious plan of domination, of getting pills shoved down her throat to cancel emotions. Even worse, it would mean letting her innocent baby become brainwashed—and she would never let that happen. Grace was too precious to place in any kind of danger.

Frank must have noticed her sudden worry, because he smiled kindly at her. "Don't worry. Grace will be fine here. We'll all take care of her and help teach her," he promised the young girl. She smiled back at him in thanks.

"We'll have to be more careful now," Mike D continued. "We can't let BL/ind find us out here, and they can't find out anything about our past lives they could use against us. Our first priority is staying alive, and with all this new shit to deal with, that's gonna be a hell of a lot harder than it sounds."

While the rest of the group agreed, Gerard stood and grabbed a paintbrush and a can of red paint. He made his way over to the wall behind the TV.

"What are you doing?" Mikey asked curiously as his brother splashed color onto the wall.

Gerard stepped back, allowing his friends to see the word _RULES _splattered across the top of the wall in capital letters. "We need laws, too," he announced. "Better ones than what we have right now. Laws to keep us alive."

His last sentence plunged the Killjoys into discussion for nearly an hour. There was so much for the desert rebels to safeguard against and so little they knew about the new world and BL/ind that most of their ideas were implausible or controversial, and it was all Gerard could do to try and keep track of all the words flying between his friends. But eventually, they managed to agree on three points, and the young artist added the words under his heading in blood-red paint.

RULES

_Keep your boots tight, keep your gun close and die with your mask on if you have to_

_Code names only_

_Don't trust anyone unless they're a Killjoy—even incoming members_

"That should be good," Billie nodded. Gerard glanced proudly at the wall. "And one last thing—staying alive is our first priority. Bringing down Better Living Industries is our second. Don't get them confused."

"How exactly are we going to bring down Better Living Industries?" Rob asked skeptically.

The leader shrugged noncommittally. "I'm still getting to that part."

"Does it involve possibly dying?" Mikey asked sarcastically.

Billie smiled, but there was no amusement in his expression. "Maybe," he said.


	28. You're the Soldiers of the New World

**I'm back! :D sorry I didn't update sooner, but school's been hitting me hard this week what with makeup work _and_ my eEnglish portfolio...all that's left now is finals and then freshman year is _finally over _*phew***

**Anyway, enjoy the update! We revisit some old characters again, cause I know you guys have been wondering ;D**

CHAPTER 28: YOU'RE THE SOLDIERS OF THE NEW WORLD

March 21, 2014

Battery City, California

9:47 AM

War.

That was what everyone would remember 2014 for—war. Eventually, they came to be known as the Helium Wars, a name coined by BL/ind scientists when they discovered the secret of the helium bomb. Helium was suddenly the most dangerous substance on earth as the Japanese scientists worked to harness it first into the form of ammunition, then toxic gas, and ultimately a highly explosive, radioactive bomb. This was their secret weapon—an idea so revolutionary, so controversial, so utterly _deadly _that no one could ever know unless they absolutely had to use it.

It was a war of old and new—the remains of America's once-great military, now downtrodden and shrunken, versus Better Living Industries' ever-growing army of brainwashed Draculoids and S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W units. What BL/ind lacked in numbers and support, they quickly made up for in technology and influence. They held California as their base, drawing on the constant supply if refugees flowing into Battery City seeking shelter. The newcomers found no shelter. Instead, they were pumped full of emotion-erasing drugs and packaged away into small, pristine apartments, assigned a menial job to keep them occupied and to keep Battery City running, and controlled as tightly as BL/ind could manage. If they were unlucky, it would be them that would be chosen at random to be removed from the city and relocated to the top-secret complex miles away from the city. Citizens went in, and Draculoids came out. Nobody knew what happened inside. The citizens of Battery City didn't have enough free thought left to be curious.

It was a cruel, efficient system that nobody dared to question. BL/ind's control was simple and complete. If you lived in the city, you would be monitored each day by medical tests administered by government doctor to assure you continued taking their drugs. If you missed a single day, you would be swiftly dragged away to the "reformation facility," where you would make the transformation from human to monster, citizen to Draculoid.

But the government had made one small mistake. They did not have control over every person in California.

Lacey Mosley watched the war from Terry's tiny, grainy television, hidden safely away on the coast. Terry didn't care much for news of the war. His only focus was keeping himself and Lacey alive and free. He continued to spend his days on the ocean, searching for food for the both of them.

But to Lacey, monitoring the unfolding of the Helium Wars was like watching a car crash—horrific, violent, terrifying and utterly fascinating in the most morbid way possible. She spent her days with her eyes glued to the television, where a battle raged almost as strong as the one being fought in the Northwest. BL/ind dominated the airwaves for the most part, but it was a common occurrence for the image to suddenly black out and reappear with men in army fatigues, or sometimes even the President himself. They would spit out a few quick sentences about how the war was _really _progressing before BL/ind would retake control and reassure their viewers that the battles were nothing to worry about and the war would never reach them.

The war angered Lacey. She had never much liked the American government before the apocalypse, but at least they had tried to uphold the most essential of human rights—freedom. This was a war for freedom, and the Americans were losing. BL/ind was evil—she had no doubt on this fact.

But the Japanese company's oversight didn't stop there. Their self-assuredness went so far that they didn't even notice the people in their own city that were not completely under their control.

Hayley, Jeremy and Taylor were hanging onto life with all that they had. They, along with Sierra, Jack and Alex, were still sheltered in the abandoned mall on the fringe of Los Angeles, but that didn't limit the number of near-death situations they'd been thrown into. The building was unstable, and cave-ins were all too common. Jeremy was nearly crushed once. It had taken Taylor, Jack and Alex to free him from the debris.

Then there was the difficulty they faced in staying hidden from BL/ind. The six didn't enter the city often, but when they did, what they saw shocked and horrified them. They knew nothing of the pills or the Helium Wars, or even the Draculoid camps—but they knew they never wanted to be forced under the government's control. But being free was much harder than it sounded. The first time the Draculoids had swept the old suburbs, it had been by pure luck that Hayley and Sierra had seen them coming towards the mall when the two girls were coming back from a short trip into the city. They'd raced back into the mall and alerted the four boys, and while the Draculoids were distracted with the other ruined structures in the area, the young teenagers had shifted their mattresses and all their food down into the darkest location they could find—the place where a Hot Topic once stood, now only a '_Ho T pi_' according to the sign. They'd made as little noise as possible when the policemen came by a couple hours later. It was due to extremely good luck that the drones were exhausted and bored by the time they reached the mall, at the very outer edge of the area. They'd managed to stay there for nearly a year now, hidden away from BL/ind and their drugs. They didn't bother the government and the government didn't bother them.

Then there were the Killjoys.

Gerard always described their rebel movement as a mosquito—a quick, invisible annoyance to the Japanese government's utter control, and one that they couldn't catch. It was true BL/ind hadn't thrown that much effort into fighting the rebels yet—but that was something the fifteen citizens of the desert colony were grateful for. If the Killjoys were a mosquito, the Helium Wars were like a bear intent on crushing BL/ind's stolen control.

The Killjoys all supported that bear. They were utterly sick of watching conditions in Battery City decline with each visit, of seeing civilians fall under the spell of influence and literally lose their minds. The purpose of their cause was renewed with every foray into the dangerous city. Even so, it was all they could do to stay alive themselves. Most of the Draculoids and S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W units were being deployed to Utah, Colorado and Nevada to fight the former military, but BL/ind seemed to be able to spare just enough to keep the Killjoys on edge. They'd gotten accustomed to the constant slaughter of the agents and learned never to remove their masks, for fear of recognizing a face. They hadn't yet taken down a Scarecrow, but the kill count on the Draculoids rose nearly every day. For each slaughtered Drac, the Killjoy responsible got a tick mark slashed next to their codename on the wall alongside the three rules they all lived by. Gerard was in the lead with eleven marks slashed next to _Party Poison, _and Billie and Chester trailed him, with nine ticks next to each of their names.

Life in the desert had finally reached a sort of disruptive, unpredictable routine. The Killjoys had become a highly dysfunctional family, one that argued often, never agreed on anything and loved each other with all their hearts. Each rebel was an indispensable ally. There had been no more recruits in four month, but they hardly even noticed—it was enough of a task keeping themselves alive. Adrienne was their only outside source. Once a week, a group of two or three—always led by Billie, to everyone's amusement—would sneak out to the city in Xero's old van, now heavily armored with scrap metal, and rendezvous with the young woman for information on BL/ind and any food or supplies she could steal from her store without the Draculoids noticing. This was how the rebels learned the _real_ story of the Helium Wars and not the one that BL/ind had approved to be broadcasted on the television and the airwaves. In their efforts to keep the citizens uninformed and brainwashed, the government had downplayed the war so drastically it sounded as if there was no conflict at all. But Adrienne had a different story. The Draculoids were loose-lipped around her, thinking she was just another mindless slave to the company. From their gossip and discussion, she found out that BL/ind's army of Draculoids and S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W units were slowly but surely overpowering the American military, pushing them further away from California and back into their base in the Rocky Mountains of Utah, where the remains of the old government sheltered in their armored bunker. They were winning—slowly, but they were definitely beating the Americans.

The Killjoys still hoped for a sudden victory by the old government, but they weren't stupid. They knew the chances of BL/ind ever completely fading away were miniscule. The war was keeping the Japanese executives' attention away from them for now, but once the conflict was over one way or another, their focus would be turned to the small rebel movement. They were going to be annihilated if they didn't do something—and soon.

Mike D, Chester, Mikey and Phoenix were still busting out weird experiments in their secret office-turned-makeshift lad, heavily undersupplied and barely functioning. They claimed they might be getting closer to their own new weaponry, some sort of improved ray-like bullet compatible with the rayguns they'd taken from the Dracs, but they needed more information on the Scarecrow technology so they could adapt to BL/ind's improved fighters. All they'd really found so far was a weird compound in leather that repelled acid. From this, they'd determined that everybody should probably wear as much leather as they could to be better protected in case of emergency.

Still, it was progress. The Killjoys were progressing as a movement. They were easily taking on everything Better Living Industries threw at them.

The next disturbance in the settling dust of the desert wouldn't come from BL/ind, though. It would come from a restless upstart teenager and their guardian.

Of course, the Killjoys didn't know this. Things were about as normal as they could get for fourteen young adults and a baby living in an abandoned warehouse in the post-apocalyptic Californian desert. Brad and Phoenix were cuddling on the couch, Tré was arguing with Mikey about some band the younger boy loved, Mike S was sitting cross-legged on the floor with his guitar unplugged, and Amy, Chester, Gerard and Frank sat in a loose circle in front of the TV, half-watching Grace lie on her stomach and gurgle happily at her companions and half-talking.

"I think we'd need more planning and support before we try—oh Gracie, no! Be careful!" Amy stretched her arms out towards her baby, who was pounding her heels excitedly into the concrete floor.

"But we need to strike now, while BL/ind's distracted with the Helium Wars," Gerard explained. "Just think—if there are forces fighting them both outside _and _inside the company, they'll finally weaken enough that just maybe someone can beat them!"

"We've got fourteen people, Poison," Amy reminded him, rolling her eyes. She lifted Grace into her arms and passed her to Frank, who somehow managed to always calm the baby down when she was overly excitable. Frank's face crinkled into a smile and he tickled Grace's stomach. The baby laughed happily.

"But if we're sneaky…if we fight well enough—"

"Where are we going to learn to fight?" Chester glanced around the large room at the rest of the Killjoys. They really were a motley crew—lumbering, clumsy Ray; scrawny, gawky Mikey; commanding but tiny Billie; utterly crazy, trigger-happy Tré; non-violent Mike D…they wouldn't stand five minutes within the company's center.

Another voice brought his attention back to the conversation. "We need better training," Frank was saying, watching Grace distractedly as she grabbed at one of the colorful tattoos on his forearm. "If we could all fight as well as the 'Crows, then we might stand a pretty good chance. But not while we're all unorganized and unprotected like this. Half of us can barely shoot, and what if we lose our guns?"

"So you think we should learn hand-to-hand combat?" Gerard questioned.

His best friend shrugged. "It's something to think about. Having our own kind of weapons would help too."

Frank's argument made sense—too much sense. He'd meant it to discourage Gerard from his crazy rebellious ideas, but it had the opposite effect. Gerard's eyes were gleaming like they did whenever he had an idea.

"Gerard—" the younger boy warned.

"Mikey knows the basics of karate," Gerard said. "Ray fenced when he was younger, remember? He was so embarrassed, but his parents made him. Chaz was just telling us a few minutes ago about how his dad taught him how to wrestle. And me…well, I've learned a thing or two about fistfights." He grinned, teeth gleaming, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"You think we can fistfight a Scarecrow?" Chester asked dubiously.

"Nothing is invincible," replied Gerard. "If we get strong enough—yes. We could beat them."

"I think you're crazy," Chester muttered under his breath, but the raven-haired Killjoy didn't hear him or didn't take notice.

Gerard sprung up quite excitedly and tugged on Frank's hand, who reluctantly passed Grace back to Amy and stood too. Chester and Amy watched skeptically as the older Killjoy curled his hands into fists and began to elaborate on how to throw punches, using Frank as a pretend Draculoids and lightly landing hits on his arms, legs and torso. Frank rolled his eyes and stood still.

Finally, Amy broke in. "Great," she said, "but you do realize Dracs and Crows actually _move _when you try to attack them."

"Well, we'll have to find some moving targets to practice on," Gerard answered flippantly.

"You really think this is gonna work?" she asked more softly.

He sighed. "I dunno, Sunshine. But we'll have to try. If we don't kill them, they'll kill us."

"Terry, if we don't do something, they're gonna overrun the world."

Lacey stared at the ceiling, swirling the fingers if her left hand into her short brown hair. The carpet pricked into the back of her neck.

"What are we supposed to do?" Terry asked. His tone wasn't condescending, but rather morose and hopeless, as if he was resigned to watching BL/ind take control of their universe.

She frowned. "I don't know."

The girl rolled onto her stomach and propped her chin on her hands so she could stare up at Terry. Her feet swung lazy circles through the air.

"They're not hurting us here," Terry said softly. "They haven't found us yet. Maybe they never will."

"So you want to…stay? Just hide here, forever?"

"I want to keep us safe," he replied. "You're like a daughter to me, Lacey. I can't let you get hurt."

Lacey's heart swelled at his words. It was very uncommon for either of them to show emotion, but Terry _was _her father now. It made her happy to know he thought the same.

"We can't hide here forever, though," she whispered.

"I know," he answered, equally quietly.

She fell into silence, watching her pale fingers pick at strands of the carpet distractedly. She heard Terry stand and saw his large boots pace away towards the kitchen, and she sighed.

It was the Helium Wars that had done it. She had to do something—but she had absolutely no idea what. They were two people. Better Living Industries was a highly organized army of soldiers headed by maniacal geniuses. Nobody rebelled against BL/ind unless they seriously had a death wish. They'd get killed, or worse yet, turned into a Draculoid—and who knows what that entailed.

There was a thump from somewhere near the kitchen, and Lacey swiveled her head around lazily. Terry didn't say anything, didn't even swear like he usually did when he dropped something.

"Ter? What was that?" she called out.

"Dunno," he shouted back. "Came from outside. Probably a wave breaking or something."

A moment later, the noise came again, a loud, hollow knocking from the front of the house. Groaning, Lacey stood and stretched her arms over her head. If Terry wasn't going to figure out how to shut it up, then she would.

Her bare feet padded across the stubbly carpet as she made her way to the front door. The metal handle was slick and cool against her hand, and she tugged it open, poking her head out cautiously.

She didn't know what she was expecting to see, but it definitely wasn't a Draculoid.

The BL/ind employee stared back at her coldly. "Is this your place of residence?" it questioned.

Lacey cleared her throat nervously and tried to rearrange her face into a less frightened expression. "Y-yeah," she replied.

She'd never come face-to-face with one of the policemen before. She'd seen them on TV, prowling in the background of any footage of Battery City, and of course in the few scenes of the Helium Wars, but she'd never actually met one in real life. They were more terrifying than she had expected.

"State your name and age."

_I can't give him my real identity. _"Hannah Smith," Lacey blurted. "I'm—I'm fifteen."

The Draculoid raised an eyebrow skeptically and raked its eyes down her body. Lacey knew she had made a mistake—she'd turned eighteen last September; there was no way she'd pass for three years younger.

But after only a moment's hesitation, the agent moved on with its questioning. "Does anyone else live with you, Hannah Smith?" it asked coolly.

"Erm—um…hold on a sec," she stuttered, before slamming the door in his face.

She was dashing back to the kitchen as soon as he was out of sight. "Terry," she gasped out, grasping the door frame for support. "Terry. Draculoid."

He spun around, and there was a sound of shattering china. He swore loudly, then swore again.

"I don't know what it wants," she murmured. "But—Terry. I told it my name's Hannah Smith. But they know about us. They know we're in here."

Terry's face was set in a stony frown, and he pushed past Lacey brusquely on the way to the front door. She followed after him carefully.

"Hello," Terry said evenly. His voice was completely unemotional.

"Are you the legal guardian of Hannah?" the Draculoid shot back.

Terry cleared his throat. "I'm her uncle, John Smith."

The policeman pulled a small metal device, no larger than a cell phone out of its pocket and tapped a few buttons. "Your names are not located in the Better Living database," it informed them.

"BL/ind has never bothered us out here," Terry refuted. They were calm enough words, but there was something about the way he said them—a hint of a protest. They were fighting words, and the Draculoid knew it.

"You will be entered into the registered database immediately," the agent informed them. "You will be required to apply for government occupations and will receive all supplies necessary for a comfortable life. Better Living takes care of its' citizens. We have your well-being in mind."

Lacey wanted to scream. She wanted to rail at the drone, to lash out and somehow harm this physical representation of the company. She wanted to get rid of the thing that was threatening her liberty. But she'd seen video of them in action. There was no way she would ever stand a chance against them, especially unarmed and untrained as she was.

She could see Terry was barely containing his anger, but she could only tell because she knew him and his expressions so well. Terry was a master of controlling his emotions. His face never changed unless he wanted it to.

But even Terry was having problems repressing his revulsion as the Draculoid reached into the pocket of its white police uniform. "All BL/ind citizens and customers are required to take BL/ind's patented miracle pills, a cure for all pain, suffering and ailments," it droned. "Trust BL/ind. We will solve all of your problems."

"Um…" The Draculoid was offering them two small, clear pill bottles. Terry wasn't reaching for them, obviously just as suspicious of them as Lacey was.

"Take them," the agent said, and it wasn't an offer.

"Well, we'd rather not—" Terry began.

But in a movement too fast for either of them to fully follow, the Draculoid had whipped a stark white shotgun out of a holster hidden at its' side. "Resistance is unacceptable," it announced. "You _will _comply with BL/ind's regulations."

"I don't think we will," Terry growled.

"Ter—um, Uncle John," Lacey said quietly, laying a hand on his arm.

"Get out of here, Lace," Terry breathed so the Draculoid couldn't hear him. "Fine something to protect yourself with."

She wanted to resist. She needed to stay there with Terry, for moral and physical support. But they were unprotected, and it was armed, and sticking around would serve no purpose but to get them both hurt. She had to save Terry.

He was stalling for time. Terry watched Lacey disappear into the kitchen and shot a silent prayer to God. He hadn't prayed in what felt like ages, certainly not since Day Zero, but this situation definitely necessitated some sort of divine intervention. So Terry prayed, prayed to a God he wasn't quite sure he believed in, for the safety of the one person he cared for in the world anymore.

The Draculoid wrenched the lid off the bottle and tipped one blue-and-white pill into the palm of its gloved hand. "Take it," it demanded.

Terry shoved his arm hard enough that he dropped the open bottle.

He felt the next movement more than he saw it. There was a searing, ripping pain in his shoulder blades and a horrible wrench in his arms as he felt them twisted behind his back. A strong grip seized his chin and his mouth was forced open. The Draculoid leered down at him, its face still obscured by that absurd Halloween mask all the agents wore as a part of their uniform.

"Those who defy us will not be tolerated," it informed Terry in a malicious whisper.

Terry shook his head violently, desperate to escape the Draculoid's grip, but the enemy was too strong. His jaw was held open with only two fingers as the other two dangled a tiny pill over his mouth. The Drac was hesitating, toying with him, relishing the success and the feeling of winning. It _enjoyed _torturing Terry.

"I'm sure they'll turn you into a Draculoid," it informed Terry calmly. "Your niece, too, if she can physically endure the treatments and training. They always do with the rebellious ones."

"Not Lacey," Terry choked out, his words emerging breathy and half-formed.

The Draculoid chuckled cruelly. "So Hannah isn't her name. That's what I guessed. I assume your name isn't John Smith either." It tightened his grip on Terry's arms, twisting them further and making the man cry out in pain. Something made a horrible popping sound, and his left hand went numb.

"It doesn't matter," the BL/ind slave continued. "Soon enough you won't have any identity. You'll just be a number. Just like me. Just like BL/ind's perfect army."

BL/ind's army was about the furthest thing from perfect Terry could think of.

"It erases your emotions," the Draculoid confided in him. "Every last one. You won't be able to fight because you won't want to. Submit now, and maybe you'll be spared."

"Never," Terry gasped out.

"That's what I thought," it smirked, and released its grip on the pill.

Terry struggled against the impulse to swallow, but he was gagging against the medication, and the Drac had relocated one hand to grip his neck, and his throat was convulsing against his efforts. He choked out one last cough in a desperate attempt to keep the mind-control out of his system.

And suddenly, the pressure on his throat and arms was alleviated. His ears registered a full, metallic _clunk _as he fell to his hands and knees, coughing and gagging and spitting the pill onto his carpet.

A small hand landed on his back, stroking comfortingly as he fought to regain his breath. Finally, air began to enter his lungs again in rapid, shallow gasps. He rocked back onto his heels and sat up, kneeling on the carpet.

Lacey threw her arms around him and pushed her face into his shoulder. She was mumbling something incomprehensible, but Terry caught the gist of it when she turned her head to the side: "I thought you were dead, Dad."

"Dad?" Terry asked curiously, wrapping an arm around Lacey's shoulders.

She looked up at him with shining, tear-filled eyes. "Dad. You're my dad now. I thought you died, just like the first one did…"

"Sh, sh, it's okay," he murmured gently. He squeezed her shoulders with one arm. "Look, Lace, I'm fine. I didn't even swallow the pill, see? The Drac let go before I choked…"

"I knocked it out," Lacey whispered. "Killed it, maybe." That's when Terry noticed the heavy metal skillet lying next to her knees and the deep crimson blood leaking from the Draculoid's collapsed form on the pale entryway carpet.

"Lacey, I told you to go," he protested.

"I couldn't leave you," she responded. "You're the only family I have left. You're the only person I care about anymore."

Terry's eyes were beginning to water, too. "We have to go, Lace," he said quietly. "They'll come looking when they realize that Drac isn't coming back. They'll arrest us."

"I know," Lacey answered. But she didn't move, just pushed her head into the crook of her father's neck and let her eyes slide shut as she relished the quiet, intimate moment.


	29. Point Me to the Edge of Life

**Wow, lots of changes on ff this week x) I want to get a cover up for this now! Anyone wanna help me make one? :D**

**I've fallen behind on my review responses ._. I'll be a much, much better author/friend after next week, I promise. It's just...finals. You guys know how those are. And I'm a freshman, so it's my first time going through this. That makes it even harder ;_;**

**But enough of my bitchting-I'm not the story. Enjoy!**

CHAPTER 29: SO POINT ME TO THE EDGE OF LIFE, I'LL STAND UP ON MY TOES

March 21, 2014

Terry's Hut on the Rock, The Edge of California

11:51 AM

"So where do we go from here?" Terry wondered, absently stroking a hand over Lacey's tangled brown curls.

Something was lingering on the edge of Lacey's mind. It was a distant memory of a sunset sky and a dark room, loud, energetic music, and the handsome face of a kind stranger. There was talk of a rebellion, and almost a suggestion to join. A strange tingling filled her face as she felt color rise to her cheeks.

_Gerard Way._

"Remember that Xero gig almost a year ago?" she began slowly. Terry nodded.

"I met a boy there. He said he was a rebel, and he lived in the desert. He was friends with the boy from the protest at Hawthorne Towers."

"The one with the sign?" Terry recalled.

"Yeah, him. But his friend—Gerard, he said his name was—danced with me, and he was telling me about his secret organization. The Killjoys. He wanted me to join."

He arched an eyebrow. "And he didn't even know you?"

"We talked a bit," she said hurriedly, furiously trying to quench the growing blush in her cheeks. "He didn't expect me to join up right away. But he told me to think about it, and that he wanted to see me again. Maybe…maybe they'll take us in."

"How do we find them?"

Lacey blew a chink of her bangs off her forehead. "That's what I'm not sure about."

"Well, it's a start," Terry said optimistically, pushing himself off the floor and extending a hand to pull Lacey up. "Either way, we'll have to get out of the house. At least now we've got something to look for. Did he give you a way of contacting them at all?"

"There was a radio station, but it doesn't work," she answered. "But it was frequency 104.1, I remember."

It was shockingly easy for her to recall every moment of that night nearly a year ago. Gerard's voice flooded her mind, the exact low timbre and warm tone of it as clear as if she was hearing it out loud. She couldn't remember what the club looked like, but she remembered his messy pitch black hair and those sparkling, intense hazel eyes. She remembered every detail Gerard had mentioned with an almost scary clarity.

"Try it again," Terry urged. "I think we've got maybe half an hour before they come looking. You try the radio, I'll pack."

_How can he be so calm? _Lacey wondered as he ambled down the hallway, disappearing into his bedroom. She herself was still in shock, and she couldn't look at the body of the Draculoid to see whether she'd actually killed it. But Terry managed to stay levelheaded, even as he watched their peaceful life be upturned. She had to be strong like him.

Lacey felt her toe hit the Draculoid's leg as she turned to return to the living room, throwing herself onto the couch facing the radio transmitter. A shudder ran through her body. She focused on the ancient radio and twisted the tuning knob through station after station of static.

_Check station 104.1 tomorrow at twelve. Just listen. See if you agree._

Somehow, her mind had taken his words and filed them away. It was almost as if he had spoken them out loud. What _was _it about that guy that made her memory suddenly photographic?

Well, it was nearly twelve now. Lacey played with the knob a bit more until the dial rested on the frequency she wanted and then waited.

_Don't fail me now, Gerard._

She jumped when a voice broke through the static. Half of her had been expecting it, but half of her had been cautiously skeptical, sure the Killjoys had given up by now. It was evident now that they hadn't.

"Hey there, motorbabies," a gruff, unfamiliar voice announced. Lacey raised an eyebrow at the strange greeting.

Someone else laughed. "You like? That's Poison's word. He thinks we should have our own secret lingo." That speaker was a female, and her words were lilting and pretty.

But the last voice was one she definitely recognized. She knew that tone, that warm pitch and that infectious chuckle. She sucked in a breath as she was brought straight back to that evening.

"_I _think it sounds cool," Gerard Way said.

"Well _you _would, wouldn't you?" the girl said, and there was the sound of light laughter and bumping which Lacey could only guess was the pair wrestling. She wondered who the girl was, if she was Gerard's girlfriend.

"Quit it, Poison, Sunshine," the third voice hissed.

The giggling quieted, and the girl Lacey assumed to be called Sunshine said, "At least things are finally settling down in the Zones."

"We're learning not to hate each other," Gerard added humorously, and there was another bump before Sunshine complained "_Party!_"

"Party Poison," the first voice said sharply.

"Sorry, Rev," Gerard said, but he didn't sound sorry at all.

Lacey found herself entranced by Gerard's voice as the casual, joking broadcast continued. He called the other two by ridiculous but affectionate nicknames, Shiny and Rev instead of Sunshine and Revolution as the older man and the girl usually called each other. The Killjoys seemed more relaxed than rebellious, and Gerard was the enthusiastic leader, almost as sunshiney as Sunshine herself.

"Sun and I are coming out this afternoon," he announced in one of the more serious moments. "Doctor D is staying behind. Shocking, I know, right? Maybe him and A had an argument."

Sunshine scoffed. "Doctor D and Agent A are perfectly fine, even if they're not together _yet. _He told me to tell her he's sorry he couldn't make it."

"This is completely off topic," Revolution protested. Lacey got the feeling that Gerard and Sunshine did that often, and Revolution had difficulty controlling the two seemingly less mature Killjoys, but he was making an admirable effort.

"Anyway, Poison and I are gonna be in the city today, so look alive," Sunshine announced. "Stay sharp out there, and never let them take you alive."

"Killjoys, make some noise!" Gerard finished enthusiastically. Lacey could practically see his bright, enthused smile in her mind's eye as the radio clicked off and transformed into static once again.

Her cheeks felt flushed, and her heart seemed to have increased its' tempo to a fever pitch. She didn't know if it was leftover fear from the Draculoid or excitement over the Killjoys or even simple curiosity, but it was pounding against her ribs like a caged animal as she pushed herself up from the couch and ran to find her companion.

"They're still there," she announced breathlessly as she skidded into Terry's room. He looked up from the haphazardly packed suitcase laying half-full in front of him.

"The Killjoys?" he asked.

Lacey nodded. "The station worked and I—I heard _him. _I heard Gerard."

He sucked in a breath. "You're completely sure it was him?"

"It was him," she assured her guardian.

"How do we find them?" he asked, already fastening the suitcase and straightening up. He grabbed hold of Lacey's hand as he brushed past her and tugged her out of the room.

"He's coming into the city today with another rebel. They didn't say where they'd be, but I just have this feeling…"

"A feeling isn't enough," Terry said gruffly.

"A feeling's all we've got to go on," Lacey argued. And she knew it was foolhardy, and desperate, and likely as not wouldn't work. But something about Gerard had imprinted itself on her memory, and she wasn't going to forget him any time soon. If her idea was correct, he hadn't forgotten her, either.

She looked down at her hands, suddenly shy and blushing. "I think we should go back to Spaceland Rock Club," she said quietly.

"Where you met Gerard?" Terry asked.

Lacey bobbed her head up and down. "I know this is stupid, but I have this…instinct. It's an intuition. He told me he was going to see me again soonl. If he remembers me like I remember him, he'll go there. I know it."

Terry sighed. "You sure about this?"

"I'm not sure about _anything, _Ter," Lacey muttered. "But this is my only idea."

"You better have good instincts, then," Terry told her as they started towards the front door. "Our lives depend on it. If BL/ind get us—"

"We're dead," she whispered. She tried her best not to look at the body of the Draculoid as she picked her way across the bloody carpet. Her toe grazed something, and she shivered, sprinting the last few steps to her big black Doc Martens.

"Do we leave it here?" she asked quietly as she pulled the familiar combat boots on and tightened the lacing.

Terry regarded the limp form with revulsion. "He's dead," he announced finally. "BL/ind will figure out what happened—what we did—soon enough. They're not stupid. It wouldn't buy us any time to move him."

"Hopefully they'll have the decency to bury one of their own," the young girl said bitterly.

"It's not the Draculoid's fault, Lace," Terry murmured. "It's not their choice. It was never their choice."

"We have to stop them," whispered Lacey.

The older man forced a weak smile onto his face. "That's exactly what we're going to do."

The first thing Adrienne asked when Gerard and Amy got out of the car was "Where's Doc?"

"That's _all _you care about?" Amy asked humorously. She stepped forward and embraced the older woman, smiling.

Adrienne rolled her eyes. "Sunshine, you're an idiot."

The pair of teenage rebels snuck around the side of the building, following Adrienne into the credit store through the back entrance that only they knew about. It was always a risk for them to go into the city. They'd taken to wearing plastic eye-masks, painted garish colors to match their rayguns, to try and hide their identities whenever they left the safety of the warehouse. Gerard's bright yellow mask was resting on his forehead, but he pulled it down to cover his eyes as they entered the tiny store.

"They've still got me under tight observation," Adrienne murmured as she keyed in the code to the stockroom door. "It's not the easiest thing, trying to be a secret double agent when your sister is one of the most wanted people in Battery City."

"Most wanted?" Amy grinned, her icy eyes sparkling behind her violet-and-navy mask. "That makes me feel special."

Adrienne groaned. "Maybe it's fun for _you. _They don't know who you are. They aren't questioning you about your sister, who's supposedly _dead, _in every spare moment!" She yanked open the heavy wooden door with a bit more force than necessary, sending it swinging back into the small hallway.

"So you'd rather me, Chester and Gracie _did _get caught by BL/ind?" The younger of the two sisters raised an eyebrow.

"Of course not!" Adrienne laughed. "Though you owe me time with Gracie, you know. She's my niece, too."

"I'll make sure to bring her sometime," Amy grinned.

Adrienne ushered the young rebels into the small stockroom that was so familiar to Amy. Gerard pulled out his gun and covered the entrance while their secret ally passed the food she had managed to sneak away from each day's shipment to Amy, who packed it into a box. It was never quite enough to support the fifteen Killjoys, but they had made do with what Adrienne could get, and the supply was steadily increasing as BL/ind spread their influence and captured more ravaged lands full of deserted stores and homes. It was one of the only good things about the Japanese regime growing larger.

Amy triumphantly dumped the heavy box into Gerard's arms and smirked as he staggered under the weight. "Is this heavier than last week?" he gasped, stumbling out into the hallway.

"That's a good thing, right?" Amy asked innocently.

"Fuck you, Sunshine," Gerard grumbled.

She smiled sweetly. "That's what I've got Revolver for."

Adrienne and Gerard groaned as Amy skipped ahead, raygun drawn. She thankfully didn't have to use it, as the short walk out to the car was completely devoid of people, especially Draculoids. It didn't take long to get the box into the backseat of the Trans Am, and soon the two sisters were hugging goodbye, Adrienne promising to try and sneak away from the college sometime soon to visit the Killjoys. Amy related her short message from Billie, and Adrienne grinned softly before asking her sister to tell him she missed him.

"They're in love," Gerard commented as Amy got into the car and waved at her sister one last time.

"How do you reckon that?" Amy asked absently.

The car's engine roared to life beneath the pair, and the vehicle shot off down the hill. "Just the way they look when they talk about each other," the older boy said. "You can see it in their eyes. They get this look. You and Revolver have it too, all the time. See, you're thinking about him now—I can tell."

"Well, who are _you _thinking about, Poison?" Amy asked playfully, nudging his arm.

He sighed. "You and Agent A are the only girls I've had contact with since Day Zero. Well, there was Lacey, but she hardly counts."

"Lacey?" Amy arched an eyebrow in interest.

"Just a girl I met one night last summer," he told her, trying to keep his voice casual. "It was at that one Xero show Ghoul and I went to last summer-the one Angel and Wolf always talk about, the one that got rock music banned from the city. She recognized Ghoul from his accidentally televised protest we were at, and we started talking. I…ended up dancing with her, when I was telling her about the Killjoys."

"Was she pretty?" Amy asked curiously.

"Um…I thought she was," Gerard mumbled, blushing and ducking his head. "She was…she was different."

Amy smirked triumphantly. "What happened to her?"

"That's the problem," Gerard groaned. "She said she'd think about it, and I was planning to keep going to the club until I found her again. But they burned the club down after they kicked Xero out. There's no point looking for her—Battery City is massive and she could be anywhere. She's probably got her memory wiped by BL/ind's pills already," he finished bitterly. He was surprised to find how much he cared. It was a completely irrational reaction. He'd known that was the fate of everyone in Battery City, but he couldn't help but hope that Lacey had somehow escaped it.

"How do you know?"

Amy was still pushing the point. She had turned in her seat to face him, and there was a determined look on her face.

Gerard's hands clenched on the steering wheel. "It's common logic, Sunshine. Agent A's told us what happens to anyone that's not important enough to BL/ind. They take the pills, or they get turned into Dracs."

"Well, who's to say she didn't rebel like us?" Amy asked softly.

"Then she'd be dead."

"You sound so certain about that," she mused.

He stared out at the road with intensity, refusing to look at her. "I refuse to give myself hope," he said tersely. "She's gone. I know it. If I think otherwise, then I'll start hoping, and that will only hurt more."

"Whatever you say," she said quietly.

Gerard hoped she would drop the subject—he wanted to put all thoughts of Lacey and that night out of his head. Wherever she was, he would never be able to reach her now.

Ten minutes later, the car had reached the divergence between the road into the desert and Battery City. Amy reached out and touched Gerard's arm lightly as he began to turn the wheel.

"We should go in," she said gently. He didn't need to ask what _in _meant.

He shook his head. "That's suicide."

"We haven't checked since December. We need to see first-hand—what if something else changed?"

She was partly right, but Gerard suspected it wasn't the only reason Amy was pushing for them to go back into the city. She was still on the topic of Lacey.

"Drop it," he growled.

"We can check for more hair dye," she wheedled.

That stopped Gerard. He glanced at the road to Battery City longingly and lifted a hand to his cropped hair.

"Aren't you tired of being bleach blonde yet?" she continued, smirking.

Gerard had to give it to her: Amy was good. She knew exactly what would get to him. BL/ind's ban on piercings, tattoos and any form of hair dye was a major thorn in his side—because of it, he'd been forced to stop dying his hair the shade of black it had been since he was thirteen, because all of the dye was gone from the city and surrounding areas. Rather than give in, he'd convinced Ray and Frank to help him bleach his hair stark blonde-white with an industrial bottle of household bleach, which had hurt more than anything else he'd ever felt. He didn't even like how it looked very much, but it was a thousand times better than letting his hair revert to brunette and do exactly what the government wanted.

"They took all the dye," he said slowly.

Amy grinned. "We didn't check everywhere." She began to fiddle with a long strand of her own naturally jet-black locks, twisting it around one finger casually while she waited.

Finally, he sighed. "You suck. I hate you," he muttered, turning the wheel to the right.

"It's for your own good," Amy laughed. "Believe me, Poison, you'll thank me."

They ditched the decorated and conspicuous Trans Am near the edge of the city, right at the border of the area they knew the Draculoids controlled heavily. Gerard pulled his mask over his eyes again and sighed heavily before following Amy out of the safety of the car and into the unknown.

"Where do we start?" he grumbled.

Amy's ensuing grin scared him a bit. He'd known it was coming, but she really was cunning. They'd end up at Spaceland Rock Club by the end of the day, there was no doubt about it.

"We can just wander around the inner city," she suggested, her voice deceptively innocent.

"Why would there be dye in the inner city?" he asked.

She slapped his arm playfully. "Always so selfish, Party. This is a recon mission too, remember?"

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that," Gerard grumbled under his breath.

But despite it all, two hours into their search, their spirits were unusually high. Maybe it was the thrill of being in the city again, or the almost playful spy-like darting between doorsteps to avoid Draculoids and S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W patrol units, or even the strange looks they got from the citizens of Battery City for their bright masks. Gerard didn't even find any black hair dye. The closest they had gotten was a small convenience store already emptied of most normal colors. Regardless, he shoveled boxes of something called 'Atomic Red' into his pocket, cheerfully commenting that maybe he'd want something more colorful in the future.

And then he suddenly realized which alley Amy had dragged him into. He'd been so busy covering her as she peeked around corners and scanned for Dracs that he hadn't had time to identify where she was leading him. But this street was unmistakable—the dirty wooden doors, the overflowing dumpsters, even the positions of the chunks of rubble were familiar to him.

"_Sunshine,_" he groaned, turning around on his heel to go back towards the car.

A hand shot out and caught him by the waist. "No, Poison," she murmured. "We've gone this far. It's stupid not to check. Aren't you at least a _bit _curious?"

Truth be told, he was burning with curiosity—and it pained him to know he had begun to believe just the slightest bit in Amy's crazy idea. There was absolutely no way Lacey had survived as herself. _None…_or was there?

"You have to know," she whispered. "If you don't, it'll haunt you forever."

"And if there's no evidence she was there?" he asked shortly.

She shrugged. "We assume the worst and go home. But Poison…something will be there."

And somehow, he didn't have to ask her how she knew, because it was like he _felt _it. He _felt _Lacey. He was in tune with her. If she was still free, she would have gone back.

Amy tugged on his wrist again, and this time, he followed.

There was nothing where the club once stood—not even ruins. But Gerard already knew that. BL/ind had burned it to the ground after Xero's first and last post-apocalyptic show.

But there _was _something—a hulking figure, shrouded in a black rain jacket, with his back turned to them. At the first sight of it, Gerard had thought it might be human, it might be _her. _But his heart sank as he came closer and realized the person was too tall and wide.

"Looks like a 'Crow in disguise," Amy muttered. Her hand snaked its' way to her holster, and she squeezed the trigger of her raygun to reassure herself.

"If it's a 'Crow, run," Gerard answered.

"What are you doing?" Amy whispered.

He sighed. "Looking for Lacey, like you suggested."

She began to protest, but he brushed past her and strode towards the figure with more confidence than he actually possessed. It moved as he came closer, a smooth, human movement. _Not a 'Crow, then. _A low murmur of voices became audible.

His heart was in his throat and he didn't know why.

His right thumb stroked over the polished yellow side of his raygun in a nervous tic, and he gulped. The figure was twenty feet away, its' back still turned. There was someone else behind it, smaller, just visible through the gap in its' legs. They were ten feet away, now five—

The hulking figure spun around, and Gerard nearly dropped his gun. It was an unfamiliar man, with long, dirty dreadlocks and calloused hands.

"Who are you?" he rumbled. His eyes locked on the gun in Gerard's hands.

The boy wet his lips. "Killjoy Party Poison," he said, a slight tremor in his voice.

Gerard's finger tightened on the trigger. But then a voice stopped him. A voice than, despite it all, he remembered.

"Gerard?" Lacey asked.


	30. Outscreaming These Lies

**Well I've had a thoroughly exhausting week x) barely even enough time to write, it's ridiculous! Finals eat up literally all of your time...thank god I had time to update :D here you go!**

CHAPTER 30: YOU ARE THE TRUTH OUTSCREAMING THESE LIES

March 21, 2014

Spaceland Rock Club, Battery City, California

3:14 PM

She almost didn't recognize him. His hair was stark blonde now, almost white, the opposite of the black she remembered seeing on him. There was a yellow mask over his eyes, and somehow, he looked very different in the blank gray light of Battery City instead of a dark, rosy sunset. But it was his voice, saying his codename, and it was definitely his warm, sparkling brown eyes staring out from behind the mask.

"Gerard," she repeated, more confidently.

"Lacey." He looked stunned.

She smiled softly. "You remember me."

"Of-of course I do."

A smaller girl stepped up to stand behind him, a massive grin gracing her face. "Poison?" she questioned.

Gerard seemed to snap out of his reverie. "Sunshine…we found Lacey."

_Found me?_ Lacey wondered. Had they been looking for her?

"What…but how…Lacey, you're _fine,_" he stuttered. "You…you're not on the pill, are you? Please don't tell me you're on the pill. _Please."_

Her face twisted into a grim smile. "We barely got away. I had to kill a Draculoid with a frying pan."

"You _what?_" he gawked.

"It's a really, really long story," she sighed. "But honestly, all that it comes down to is that we need your help."

"Anything," Gerard said immediately.

She bit her lip shyly. The sounds of the city roared around them, but she could hardly hear it through the sudden ringing in her ears. She was shocked to find she was nervous, when she had no reason to be.

"Remember last June, when you asked me to join the Killjoys and I said I'd think about it?"

He nodded. She hated the way she couldn't see his expression behind his mask.

"I thought about it. Me and Terry want—no, we _need _to join."

Gerard smirked. "_Need _is a pretty strong word."

"Well, this is a pretty strong need."

Sunshine was grinning at her warmly. She was absolutely gorgeous. Her hand was resting on Gerard's arm lightly, and to Lacey, it looked almost possessive. _They're a couple, _Lacey decided, and the thought confused her.

"Technically, I'm supposed to ask if you're a BL/ind agent first," Gerard said.

_Those exact words. _That was the exact same thing he had said to her so long ago, word-for-word. And it wasn't a coincidence. He was testing her, making sure it was really her controlling her mind.

"Do I _look _like a BL/ind agent?"

"Which is why I think it'll be fine to recruit you," he grinned.

She was trying very hard to resist the urge to hug him.

Sunshine glanced up at Terry. "Poison, you gonna introduce us?"

"Oh, right. Sunshine, meet Lacey—well, Recruit 1A for the next month, I guess. Lacey, this is Killjoy Screaming Sunshine. Sorry, I don't know you," he apologized, turning to her guardian.

"Terry Balsamo," the older man supplied. "I'm Lacey's…well, pretty much her father."

"He _is _my father," Lacey affirmed strongly as she caught hold of his hand. Terry grinned at her fondly.

"Nice to meet you, Terry. From now on, you're Recruit 1B. We'll explain more once we're somewhere safe," Sunshine told them brightly. She turned on her heel and started off down the sidewalk briskly, gesturing at them to follow.

Lacey shot Gerard a questioning look. "The city isn't secure," he explained in a hushed voice. "You never know who might be listening. Follow Sunshine, she'll lead you back to the car. I'll be right behind you."

She caught the quick movement of him unsheathing a brightly-colored shotgun from a holster at his hip, but Sunshine was rushing ahead with Terry in tow. She had to jog to catch up with them. Gerard was a few feet behind her, his heavy footfalls just audible to her hypersensitive ears.

The four took a roundabout route through countless rubble-filled and shady alleys, ducking into doorways at any mention of a Draculoid or Scarecrow. Once, Sunshine rounded a corner and swore before shoving Terry back. She fired her gun with a futuristic _zap, _and a minute later, they passed the body of a BL/ind employee face down in the center of the alley. The female Killjoy stepped over it and kept going as if she hadn't killed it only moments earlier.

Lacey glanced back every so often to look for Gerard. He was always there, a few feet behind her, on guard and constantly checking behind them. He seemed to have changed since the last time she'd met him—something out in the desert had toughened him from the loose-lipped, eager boy she'd first met into this cool, cautious rebel. The old him showed through too, though, especially when he smiled at her when he caught her looking.

Finally, they reached a compact white car parked at the edge of the city. There was a giant spiky spider splayed across the hood in black paint, a dead giveaway that this wasn't any regular car. Sure enough, Sunshine slid into the driver's seat and beckoned the two recruits in

"Welcome to the Trans Am," she murmured, twisting the key in the ignition and scanning the sidewalk for Gerard at the same time. "It's Poison's baby. He did the designs."

"Don't ya love 'em?" Gerard asked playfully as he dropped into the passenger seat. Sunshine shrieked and fumbled for her raygun before realizing who it was. She muttered a curse at her friend before peeling away from the curb, sending the vehicle shooting down the littered street.

Gerard let out a sigh and pushed his mask away from his eyes, displacing his white bangs. He swiveled in his seat to look at Lacey and Terry. "Alright, time for explanations," he requested. His eyes met Lacey's, and she launched headlong into her tale.

His eyes didn't leave her face at all as she talked. She found this strangely comforting as she relayed the wild and dangerous events of the past twenty-four hours, pausing every so often to let Terry fill in his part of the story. It sounded even more spectacular as they retold it, and the girl found herself wondering if she'd actually lived through that—the fight with the Draculoid, the miracle of re-finding the Killjoys' radio station, the mad dash to Battery City. It sounded surreal even to her. But the two Killjoys in the front seat seemed strangely okay with it, as if finding two near-strangers on the city streets and taking them home to their rebel headquarters was a daily occurrence. Then again, she wouldn't be overly surprised if it was.

She finished her tale just as they hit the edge of the old city. BL/ind hadn't repaired the outlying areas of Los Angeles yet, and so the streets there were dirty and rubble-filled. The Trans Am jolted over the chunks of asphalt violently, throwing the passengers from side to side, but Sunshine didn't seem fazed.

"I guess it's our turn to talk," Gerard commented wryly.

Lacey raised an eyebrow. "You believe it? Just like that?

"We've had worse," he shrugged. "We found Sunshine in the middle of an acid rain shower, pregnant and passed out in the desert."

"Pregnant?" Lacey gawked. She glanced at the girl again. Sunshine couldn't be a day over eighteen…

"You'll meet my fiancé and my daughter when we get to the warehouse," Sunshine grinned.

Now the new recruit was utterly confused. "So you're not…together?" She gestured helplessly at Sunshine and Gerard.

The revels turned to look at her simultaneously, then glanced at each other with revulsion. "No _way!_" Sunshine exclaimed. "That'd be like dating a brother!"

"Am I _that _repulsive?" Gerard grumbled.

Sunshine smirked. "Oh, you're not _horrible. _But Revolver's a thousand times better—no offense." She glanced back at Lacey, and her grin grew exponentially.

Gerard shot her a look that was a cross between an embarrassed grin and a warning. The black-haired girl mimed zipping her lips and turned back to the road, while he looked back at Lacey again.

"First of all: You know my real name, and I know yours' but we can't ever use them again. You'll be Recruit 1A until your training month is over and you pick your codename. I'm Killjoy Party Poison, nice to meet you." Lacey took his offered hand and shook it tentatively.

"There's a war in Utah, but we're fighting one in the Zones, too. There are Draculoids out there, and a new type of fighter. They're called Scarecrows, they're massive robots, and they're killing machines. If you see one, you run, no questions asked. Our mission? Keep the Zones BL/ind-free, keep our minds drug-free, and stay alive. In that order."

"Zones?" Terry questioned.

"Zones, the desert, No Man's Land, Killjoy territory. Whatever you want to call it," Gerard—_Poison, _Lacey reminded herself—elaborated. "The Killjoys are based out of an abandoned warehouse. We live in the warehouse, we train in the warehouse, and we protect the warehouse with our lives. We've got other bases scattered around the Zones, but that's our main one. There are fifteen of us and we go by codenames, except Grace. Grace is just Grace. We have to hide our identities from BL/ind—that's why we've got these." He tapped the plastic masquerade eye mask resting on his forehead. "You'll be trainees for a month while we teach you and monitor you. If you're trustworthy and don't get yourself ghosted by the end of the month, you join the Killjoys."

Lacey had a ridiculous amount of questions and no idea where to start. She looked to Terry, but he seemed just as mystified as her, although there was no way he'd ask Poison anything. He'd leave that to her.

"Does BL/ind know?" she asked.

Sunshine chuckled bitterly. "Oh, definitely. They send waves of drones to kill us on a daily basis. They just don't get it—they haven't beat us yet, and they're not going to. They've got technology, but we've got _heart._"

"You _fight _them? Like, actually kill Draculoids? With what?"

Poison smiled and pulled his yellow raygun from his belt, swinging it casually around his index finger as he spoke. "We kill them, alright. With their own weapons. It's poetic justice."

"Poison's full of himself, just cause he's got the highest kill count out of all the Killjoys," Sunshine muttered.

"Is somebody jealous?" Poison teased.

Sunshine huffed. "Your brother says I'm way better at karate. Better than him, even."

"Kobra Kid is a geek who has no idea how to fight," he protested. "Karate is for—"

"And that brings us to our next point: alternative fighting styles!" the girl cut in brightly.

Poison stuck his tongue out childishly, but returned to the topic. "About a week ago, we decided we need better training. We're teaching each other as many different fighting styles as we can. My brother Kobra's teaching karate, Jet Star knows some sword fighting, Sunshine's fiancé Ghost Revolver wrestles, stuff like that. They put me in charge of shooting lessons, even though none of us really need them. I guess you will, though."

It was that comment that drove the point home for Lacey. This was _real. _It wasn't just a boy telling her the story of his rebellion anymore—it would be her fight, too. Lacey was going to learn to shoot. Lacey was going to kill Draculoids. Lacey was going to become a rebel.

"You kill them," she repeated slowly. "You kill Draculoids."

"We kill the Dracs, or the Dracs kill us," Poison said grimly.

That scared her more than anything else she'd heard.

Sunshine made a sharp turn, and suddenly, the highway was turning to dusty road under the wheels. The signs of the city were fading away beneath them. On the sides of the lone strip of black asphalt the dirt and broken buildings were being absorbed into endless waves of golden sand, punctuated by short, scrubby green trees.

"It's so bright," Terry mumbled. He shaded his eyes with one hand as he peered out the window at the rapidly transforming landscape.

"Welcome to the desert," Poison grinned. "None of us really understand why, but there's no sun in Battery City. There's been a constant cloud cover since BL/ind took over. It's only noticeable when you come out here, but it's a hell of a lot nicer."

Lacey pressed her nose to the window. Outside the thin layer of glass, the sand gleamed brightly in the afternoon sun. The sky was the purest shade of robin's egg blue she'd ever seen, hanging over the desert in a burst of color.

"This is gorgeous," she murmured under her breath. She didn't intend for anyone to hear it, but Poison spun around and smiled at her.

"Best place in California," he assured her. "BL/ind hasn't blotted out _all _the color. We've still got our Zones."

"I can see why you'd want to protect this," she answered. She pressed one fingertip to the glass, suddenly filled with the insane urge to touch that achingly bright sky.

Poison's gaze was directed out at the desert, too. "It's our home," he said quietly. "Everything I've really learned about life, I've learned out here. I can't let it go. I can't let them take the desert."

"Hey." Lacey reached around the seat back to lay a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. "They won't."

"Not while I'm around," he agreed.

A gas station slowly rose out of the horizon, then a motel a couple hours later. Sunshine acknowledged each landmark with an offhand remark about a radio station or fuel for the vehicles, but they shot past both without much thought. Finally, what looked to be a metal road sign painted over with a skull and crossbones appeared on the side of the road, and a moment later, Lacey caught her first glimpse of the venerated warehouse.

"Welcome to the base," Sunshine grinned.

The Trans Am stopped in front of the massive brick and corrugated metal building. Just like the rest of the desert, it was a concentrated blast of energy and color. The lower half was heavily graffitied with swears and crude symbols interspersed with more artistic efforts. One side was entirely taken up with a vivid mural of the desert, complete with figures clothed in neon jackets and holding rayguns. The lower left corner was signed 'Party Poison' with a symbol that seemed to be one of BL/ind's blue-and-white pills with a large red X underneath.

"You did that?" Lacey asked Poison curiously.

He blushed and scratched the back of his bleached head. "I like painting."

"You're really good at it," she murmured, running a finger over one of the figures. It stood back-to-back with a sandy-haired teen in a red jacket, their guns pointing out in opposing directions as they covered each other.

"That's me and my brother," he told her. "Kobra Kid. You'll meet him in a minute."

Lacey took one last look at the mural before following Poison back to the front of the building, where a set of ten-foot-high double doors loomed. Sunshine pulled at the handle, and they swung outwards with a rending _creak, _dislodging drifts of sand that had piled up against the doors.

"Hey, we're home," she called softly into the space. She beckoned Lacey and Terry forward, and they peered into the interior of the massive space, lit by a row of crudely-cut windows on one side.

"Sun?" A male voice called.

"Hey, Ghost." Sunshine grinned widely as a man rose from a couch and walked rather quickly towards the door. He held something cradled in both his arms, and as he got closer, Lacey realized it was a baby.

Sunshine ran forward to meet them and flung her arms around his neck, pressing a kiss first to the man's lips, then to the baby's forehead. She stretched up on her tiptoes to whisper something in his ear before taking the child from his arms.

"Recruits 1A and 1B, meet my fiancé, Ghost Revolver, and my daughter Grace," she announced.

Sunshine's family was one of the happiest sights Lacey had seen since Day Zero. Both parents were completely focused on their baby and each other, and the mother's face had transformed the moment she caught sight of them. Grace was simply adorable, with wide, curious blue eyes and a tuft of curly brown hair on her forehead. She gurgled at Lacey and grinned a toothless smile.

"Recruits?" Revolver asked, surprised. "Where'd you come from?"

"Ger—um, Party Poison found us in the city," Lacey explained. She noticed him raise an eyebrow when she nearly mentioned his real name. "I knew him from before—he wanted me to join up earlier."

"It's a long story," Poison cut in. Lacey wasn't aware he had followed her in; she faintly wondered how long he had been standing behind her.

Sunshine grabbed Revolver's hand with her free one. "C'mon, let's go get the rest of the Killjoys," she murmured. A strange look passed between her and Poison, and she added, "1B, do you want us to show you around the warehouse? I'm sure Poison needs to talk with 1A about…logistics."

"Alright," Terry agreed easily. He followed the teenage couple towards a ladder at the back of the warehouse, and suddenly, Lacey found herself completely alone with Poison.

"How did you find me?" she blurted out.

He turned to look at her, confused. "Find you?"

"You're not in the city every day. Sunshine said so. There's no point risking your lives going in. So why were you at Spaceland today?"

Poison sighed. He had moved so he was standing right in front of her, staring down at her intensely. She absently noticed his eyes weren't as pure brown as she'd thought. They were flecked with hazel and gray, giving them a more serious look.

"Poison?" she asked again.

"Would you think I'm crazy if I told you I felt you?" he said finally.

"_Felt _me?"

"Felt your presence. It's…God, I'm sounding psychotic. How do I describe this? It's like…I had this feeling. Sunshine kept asking about you after I told her about potential recruits. She thought we should go back into the city to check. I didn't want to, but then…I just got this instinct, that I had to go back. It was like you called me or something."

"That's freaky shit," Lacey muttered.

He frowned and dropped his gaze. "I know. You think I'm out of my mind."

"No, I don't. I totally get what you're talking about." And she _did, _because she'd had a similar feeling before—like a presence. Maybe she and Gerard had forged a psychic link last June or something.

"It was mostly Sunshine. She convinced me. We wouldn't have been in the city if it wasn't for her."

"Well, it's a damn good thing you were," Lacey murmured. "You saved us, Poison. You and your Killjoys."

"Jesus, Lace, don't give me a complex," he smirked. The nickname fell from his lips naturally, as if he had been saying it all his life. Then he suddenly snapped him mouth shut in horror.

"You guys really are high security here, aren't you?" she asked as they began to walk in the direction Terry, Sunshine, Revolver and Grace had disappeared to a few minutes ago.

Poison rolled his eyes. "We try to be. Most of the time none of us really care about the codenames—well, Revolution Rage, who you'll meet soon, does because he's got a conspiracy complex. But we'll probably up security for a month because you and Recruit 1B are potential security leaks. Not necessarily because we think you're spies, although we can't rule out that possibility of course, but you could have trackers or cameras on you without you knowing. It's happened—one of our guys, Bulletproof Angel, came home from a Zone sweep and left straight for the motel. A swarm of Dracs ambushed it. Took us weeks to clear it out, and we still try to use it as little as possible."

"Shit. Really?" Lacey swept a hand down her arm, subconsciously checking for anything unusual.

Poison nodded seriously. "Kobra and Detonator Threat will sweep you once Sunshine gets them. Till then, we can't say too much."

"Haven't you already said too much, then…?"

"Nope." The blonde man shook his head. "No locations, no names, no sensitive information. We lied about most things in the car—sorry about that. You'll learn more over the month. It's easier and safer than just telling you."

"This is complicated," the girl grumbled.

He smiled apologetically. "I'll help you learn, don't worry. I'll be your Killjoy mentor."

They'd stopped walking again, this time in front of a metal ladder, and Poison was standing rather close to Lacey. There were only a few inches between the fingers of their hands. Hot, stale air swirled around them. Lacey felt like the entire desert was electrified.

"Who's the chick?" someone asked, breaking the fragile silence.

Lacey and Poison jerked their heads around in sync. A smaller boy had climbed nearly all the way down the ladder, and he was looking down at her curiously. He skipped the last three rungs and landed lithely on his feet in front of the couple.

"Do I know you?" he asked. "I feel like I've seen you before."

"Erm…I think so?" Lacey recognized him too. There was something about his face that was familiar.

"You've met," Poison affirmed. "Recruit 1A, this is Fun Ghoul. He was with me at Spaceland when we met."

Fun Ghoul's jaw dropped. "You _found _her?"

"We found each other," Poison modified quietly.

Lacey watched as two more boys joined Fun Ghoul in front of them and swiftly moved to the side to make room for Terry, Sunshine and Revolver to climb down. The taller boy seemed to have a perpetual lazy grin, while the other couldn't have been older than sixteen and was constantly pushing his glasses up his nose.

"Jet Star," the taller announced immediately. His large, muscular hand enveloped hers in a strong handshake. "Call me Jet, though. Welcome to the Killjoys."

"That's Kobra," Ghoul added, jerking a thumb at the boy with the glasses. "He doesn't talk much."

"Shut up," Kobra grumbled. He shot a small, distracted half-smile at Lacey before glancing back to his feet.

The group continued to grow, a seemingly never-ending stream of people following each other down the ladder. A flurry of names and face flew past Lacey—Sinister Surgeon, a cheery Korean man; Rust Wolf, a lean, muscular brunette; Gravity Crash, a pale man with a mass of curly hair like an afro; Black Adrenaline Raygun, an energetic, wild-eyed older guy. The list went on, but the faces and names began to blend into a blur of dangerous words and colorful masks.

Finally, the diminutive man with the forest green mask that had introduced himself as Doctor Death Defying quieted the group and let Lacey be led away by Kobra and Detonator Threat, who had a wiry and devious look about him and a shock of ginger hair. Kobra awkwardly patter=d her down, blushing furiously the whole time, while Detonator swept some futuristic-looking rod down her body before declaring her clear of trackers.

"You can have her back now, Poison," Detonator called jokingly as Lacey instinctively gravitated back to his side. Both blushed and shifted away from each other as if the other was burning. She moved to stand next to Terry, who was talking with Revolution Rage, an older serious-looking blonde.

"Hey, Killjoys. _Shut up_," Doctor D yelled above the chatter of voices. The sixteen people gathered around him fell silent, all except Grace, who continued to gurgle quietly in her mother's arms.

"We've got recruits for the first time in four months. I know it's been a while, but the rules still hold—no real names till the training month is over. Recruits 1A and 1B are probationary members. Treat them like it. Both of them need a training mentor…Sunshine, you can cover 1B, right?"

The girl nodded and grinned at Terry warmly.

"1A, you seem to get along with Poison, so he can train you."

Lacey gave a small start and looked back at Poison. He didn't seem at all surprised by the assignment, and winked at her with the eye not covered by his fluttering white-blond bangs.

Doctor D clapped his hands briskly. "Otherwise, business as normal. Be on guard at the motel, and make the broadcasts good. Keep your boots tight—"

"Keep your gun close, and die with your mask on if you've got to," Ghoul recited under his breath along with the leader.

The older man's eyes crinkled as he smiled. "Killjoys, make some noise."

The group began to disperse, but Doctor D caught hold of Poison and Lacey before they could follow Terry, Sunshine and Revolver back up the ladder. "Do you two know each other from before?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," Poison and Lacey answered in sync.

"From before the apocalypse?"

Both of them began to speak at once, then stopped awkwardly. Lacey felt her face heat and gestured to Poison to talk.

"I tried to recruit her in July at a Xero show. She got in trouble with BL/ind, she remembered me, she went back to Spaceland and I found her. We're, um, acquaintances I guess."

"I see." Doctor D raised an eyebrow. "So you just assumed it'd be safe to bring them back?"

Lacey stared down at her feet. Her fingers twisted in the hem of her t-shirt as she tried to make herself invisible.

"She needed our help. I wasn't going to turn her down—anyway, we _need _recruits. You know that," Poison protested.

"Well, I trust your judgment," Doctor D told him simply. Both Poison and Lacey smiled in relief.

"Train well, and don't let your, er, feelings get in the way of Killjoy duties. 1A—welcome to the Killjoys."

"Thank you, Doctor Death," Lacey grinned.


	31. Kiss The Stars With Me

**So apparently even though I've only been on summer break for three days my brain is already being a fucking letdown and forgetting the days of the week XDD whoops**

**well at least it's here now :D**

CHAPTER 31: KISS THE STARS WITH ME

March 21, 2014

Killjoy Headquarters, Zone 4, California

11:21 PM

She is poised on the railing like an eagle, arms straight out, toes arched. She stares straight out into the gray sea. Heat bathes her back, and it rows closer.

She jumps. There is glorious freefall, wind rushing around her streamlined figure as her arms straighten into a point above her head. Then the water hits her, and it is cold and shocking and the impact reverberates to her bones.

She cannot breathe for a terrifying moment. Then her head breaks the surface and her nightgown tangles around her legs as she realizes she is facing the ship her family is stranded on.

With an earsplitting crack, the ship's hull breaks in half like an eggshell. The screams of dying humans drift over the water with too much clarity.

The scene suddenly disappeared as if a connection had been cut. Lacey shot straight up in bed. The waves pulling at her legs became twisted sheets, and the burning ship faded away into a small room lit only by moonlight. A few feet to her left, Terry slept soundly in his own bed, unaware of his daughter's distress.

The screams echoed in her ears as Lacey fought to control her frantic gasps. As the dream's reality faded from her mind, her heartbeat slowed its' frenetic pounding. Her eyes slid shut and she fell back.

She'd thought maybe, now that she was here in a relatively safe environment, the dreams would stop. But they were worse than ever. She'd felt the heat of the flames on her back, tasted the salty air in that precious moment before she took the dive. She'd heard the screams as loudly and clearly as they had been on the day she'd seen the ship sink.

Lacey trembled and clutched the pillow with her left hand. There was a spot of blood on the sheet, and she realized she'd bitten through the skin on her lip as she slept.

There was no way she'd be able to fall back asleep that night. She was terrified of the nightmares. If she fell back into slumber, they would only come again—and she couldn't stand the screams a moment longer.

As quietly as she could, Lacey slipped out of bed. She tiptoed to her suitcase and traded her pajamas for her well-worn skinny jeans and a brown camisole—even in the relative cool of the warehouse, she could feel the dry desert heat was too severe for anything else. Her hair was already matted with sweat from the heat and the nightmare-induced fear. Not that it mattered—nobody was going to see her.

She forewent shoes in favor of staying silent and snuck out the door while Terry remained soundly sleeping. The metal catwalk was cold on the bare soles of her feet, and she tiptoed past three closed doorways until she reached the ladder that led down to the bottom floor. One doorway on the end of the other side of the catwalk hung open, and she caught a glimpse of a soundly sleeping Fun Ghoul as she began her descent.

The bottom floor of the Killjoy headquarters was completely dark except for long rectangles of moonlight that shone through the high windows. She fumbled through the minefield of furniture, weapons and assorted debris that covered the floor, managing to only trip twice on the way to the warehouse doors. It was cooler down here in the massive open space, and for a moment, she considered simply waiting in the darkened room for the sun and the Killjoys to rise. But the walls were still there. Eventually, she would grow claustrophobic of this space, too. She needed out, needed free air and endless unconstrained miles and exploration. She needed a quiet place in the Zones she could call her own.

Lacey had always had an innate need to wander. Exploring fascinated her, and here in the desert, that fact certainly hadn't changed. She slipped between the double doors and into the night air, quiet as a ghost. A wisp of warm breeze kissed her cheeks. It felt good on her upturned face, as if urging her to go on. Encouraged, she slid out of the warehouse and into the vast, empty desert.

Grains of sand slipped between her bare toes, chafing the skin but not uncomfortably so. Lacey dragged her feet through the small drifts and dunes as she walked. The motion left a noticeable trail behind her, but she figured it would help her find her way back if she became lost. The night was warm, maybe even warmer than she'd expected, and the thick heat fell around her shoulders like a blanket.

She lost track of time. It could have taken minutes or hours, but after some length of time, the lines she dragged in the sand began to loop around and double back on each other. She was starting to recognize landmarks—the tall heaping sand dune and the two intertwined yucca trees were most common; she must have passed them five times each.

Eventually, her path straightened out, and she caught sight of a tall tree in the distance. All of the plants had been scrubby bushes and stunted, gnarled yuccas so far. That lone testament to survival caught hold of her attention, and she began to walk more quickly towards it.

She could barely see the warehouse once she reached the tree. Her new home was only a dot on the horizon, hundreds of feet or maybe even miles away. The tree was not as large as it had seemed but it loomed over her head, a good deal taller than any other she'd seen. It rested on the edge of a small cliff. The rocky outcrop hung over the desert below, and if Lacey hadn't been careful, she would have walked straight off the edge.

The girl pressed her back to the twisted trunk of the tree and let herself slide down until she rested on the gritty sand. The desert bloomed below and around her, moon-washed and colorless under the diamond-studded velvet that covered the scene. Stars winked down upon her. They were so close it seemed as if she could reach up and brush them with her fingertips if she wished.

Sage bushes tickled her bare arms and pressed into her lower back, but the sand was soft and comfortable and the old Joshua tree supported her. There was nothing else, just her and the tree and the sand and the stars. No city lights obstructed the jeweled night sky. She could drink her fill of the gorgeous scene; spot the constellations her father always used to talk about.

What was that rhyme her mother used to recite? _Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight…_

"I wish I may, I wish I might have the wish I wish tonight," Lacey breathed. She fell silent, entranced once again by the bright beacons of the heavens.

"You're not going to make a wish?"

Lacey gasped and whipped around towards the intruder. Gerard was standing a few feet behind her tree, his head tilted towards the sky. The light from the diamond stars reflected in his eyes and caused them to sparkle.

"Sorry if I scared you," he murmured. "I was calling your name, but I guess you didn't hear."

She stood hastily and brushed the sand off the back of her jeans. "Did you follow me?" she asked harshly.

Gerard tipped his head back down to look at her. His gaze caught hers, and suddenly, her lungs felt very tight.

"I heard you leave—my door was open because I was still awake. I figured it would be you out here."

"You followed me the whole time I was wandering?"

He took a tentative step towards her, and she still couldn't break his gaze. Her breath hitched in her throat. She wasn't smiling, but neither was he. This moment was fragile, like glass. It could shatter with one wrong movement.

The electricity was back as he moved closer. "I got curious," he said. "These are danger days. You've got to be careful…I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"These are danger days," Lacey repeated quietly.

She didn't remember making the conscious decision to move forward, but she had met him halfway under the Joshua tree. A small, lopsided smile had snuck its' way onto his lips. She wasn't quite sure what to say, what to do, and she had never been this unsure about anything before. She hated the helplessness, but at the same time, there was something so thrilling about this—about _him. _

"I'm supposed to be training you, remember?" he said humorously. "It wouldn't look very good if my recruit got ghosted on her first day out here."

"No, I guess it wouldn't," Lacey agreed softly.

Gerard studied her for a moment, his eyes roving silently over her face. She bit he bottom lip again. A harsh sting ran through her, and she realized she'd bit through the scab forming where she'd already wounded herself.

He reached out slowly as if she were a skittish horse and brushed the droplet of blood away with his thumb. "I think I'd miss you too much," he whispered. "If you died, I mean."

"You'd better take good care of me, then."

"I promise I will as best I can," he murmured.

His right hand slipped from her mouth to her shoulder, and then to hang empty at his side. Lacey desperately resisted the urge to lift her own hand to her lips to cover the bare spot his fingers had left.

"You're different, Lacey," Gerard said. "I can feel it. I don't know why, but I remembered you. Every little thing about you. Your hair, the way you smelled like sea salt, your voice. There's something about you."

"I felt it too," Lacey murmured. "It's a bond."

"A bond?"

She sighed and slid her eyes closed, letting her other senses take over for a moment. "Close your eyes and I'll close mine," she whispered.

And then it was just them two, blind and trusting, falling headlong into this new feeling.

The tension between their bodies was incredible but Lacey knew better than to move even the slightest bit for fear of shattering the soap-bubble moment they had created. There were so many feelings coursing through her, sensations of excitement and fear and being _alive _all swirling and crashing into a heady combination. Without sight, all of her other senses were heightened. The slight wind ruffling the branches of the Joshua tree and the call of desert birds and Gerard's soft breaths were all ten times as loud. The earthy scent of lift pervaded her nose, and she breathed deeply, letting it rest in the back of her throat so she could almost taste it.

Warm air caressed her face, kissed at her eyelids, her nose, her lips, and the tension tightened. There was a rubber band between them, pulled taut, ready to snap and catapult them into whatever this was growing into at any moment.

"Magic," Gerard breathed.

And just like that, the tension broke. The rubber band snapped and Lacey's eyes flew open. He was motionless except for his chocolate-hazel eyes, which searched her face rapidly.

"The desert is magic," he repeated. "This moment is magic. Do you feel it?"

"I don't believe in magic," Lacey said.

There was a ring of light from the moon flowing forward from behind his head. His shining hair was crowned with a halo of stars, and she thought he looked a bit like how she imagined God to be.

"But I believe in dreams. I believe in you."

"I'm not a dream, Lacey," he protested quietly. "Far from it. There are no dreams out here."

She shook her head. "Where there's hope, there are dreams. And there is hope here. I see it in Sunshine and her family. I see it in Kobra and Jet and Ghoul. I see it in Grace, and I see it in you."

"Maybe you'll remind us how to find that hope," he answered.

Lacey suddenly felt very weak at the knees, as if her legs were failing to support her anymore. She stumbled backwards, away from Gerard, and crashed onto her knees near the edge of the cliff. His forehead wrinkled slightly in confusion—he must have felt the fragility, too, and realized she had just broken their bubble into shards of moonlight—but all the same, he followed her to the edge.

She felt, rather than saw, him sit down next to her, but she determinedly kept her gaze locked on her own feet as they hung off the lip of the sandy outcrop. They swung in small circles in the empty space, her heels grazing the rock with every pass.

Time was a foreign notion that night. Gerard and Lacey said nothing more, for voices would clutter the enchanted silence that had fallen over the desert. Words weren't enough to convey anything.

Instead, Lacey focused on the details—on the sand beneath her thighs and the breeze lifting her hair and Gerard's steady heartbeat. The sky showered the scene with glimmering stardust, pouring down on the two and scattering starlight over Gerard's shining hair and his pale milky skin. He was a moonbeam himself, bright and pale white under the refracting diamonds of light.

She could only imagine how they would look, these two supposed rebels letting themselves become lost without protection in the desert and in their own feelings. There was something about the night—it brought emotions to the surface that she hadn't known she was capable of. Whether it was that electricity that was flowing through the desert or Gerard's presence or even that magic that he had suggested, she didn't know, and really it didn't matter. All that she could be sure of was that this was too new and too raw and too real.

They sat in silence until the diamonds faded away and the shining moon disappeared under the mountains in the wet, bringing the gray-purple skies that only existed in that period of limbo between night and day. A strange sense of loss flooded over Lacey as she realized that the night was coming to an end. She and Gerard would have to go back soon, before the other Killjoys woke up and became worried over their absence. But she didn't want to break the peace that had descended over them—the first peace she'd known since before Day Zero.

When the sun began to peek over the horizon and spread rosy-red rays over the sand, they knew they couldn't ignore it any longer. Wordlessly, Gerard stood and offered his hand to Lacey. She took it gratefully and allowed him to haul her to her feet.

Lacey searched for something to say that wouldn't compromise whatever it was they had just experienced, but her brain came up empty. What could she say about it? The same words that had been unnecessary for the past few hours were failing her now.

"Why'd you come out here?" Gerard asked as they began to walk back towards the distant warehouse.

His voice startled her. Half of her was glad that he'd broken the silence so she didn't have to, but the other half mourned the fact that his speech marked the end of their night of amiable peace.

"I had a nightmare," she answered quietly.

He sighed sympathetically, but kept his gaze straight and didn't look down at her. "What was it about"

"Just…just a recurring dream. Day Zero. It keeps replaying in my head."

"How'd you survive Day Zero?" he asked. Then he caught sight of the small shiver that ran through her body. "If you don't mind me asking," he amended hastily.

"No, it's fine," Lacey sighed. She wrapped her arms around her torso protectively, rubbing her palms over her bare skin. "I was on a cruise ship with my family. The sea was turbulent, and the ship was tipping all over the place. There was a giant wave when I was on the deck and I hit my head on the railing. It knocked me out and when I woke up, the ship was burning."

She took a deep, shuddering breath to steel herself. Gerard was looking at her with concern, his eyebrows furrowed. When he noticed her pause, he offered her a supportive smile. The small motion helped to soothe her nerves.

"I—they said—they were saying we would have to jump ship, before it sank. The lifeboats were gone. I wanted to find my family, but the boat…it split in half. And people were dying. I _saw _them. It was all I could do to hold on to the railing, and somehow—I have no idea how I did it, but I got over the railing. I jumped into the sea and swam away. But I saw them, I _heard _them, all those people on the burning ship and—" her voice cracked. "And my _family._"

She didn't even realize she was crying until the quivering teardrops hit her cheeks. They left wet trails on her skin, but she was shaking too much to wipe them away, because it was all too much. The screams were echoing in her ears even though she was wide awake.

She was trembling and shivering and falling apart and all these emotions were tugging her in a thousand different directions and they would tear her into millions of little pieces, she was sure of it, and she was nothing but a broken mess held together by a weak, cracking shell. She was shocked she'd been able to hold on to her sanity for this long already. The brush with the Draculoid and Terry nearly being killed and the frantic escape and the rush of new information the Killjoys entailed and the memory-dreams combined with this new-found vulnerability she'd shown Gerard that night, and she was sure he'd run away as soon as he saw the mistake he'd made in rescuing such an emotionally unstable person.

But he didn't. Instead, she felt calming hands on her arms and then she was enveloped in warmth.

"Sh, sh, you're okay," Gerard whispered. "You're fine. I've got you."

His arms wrapped around her protectively and her world was enveloped in Gerard. She pressed her hands to his chest and all she could see was his black t-shirt and all she could hear was his soothing voice and all she could smell was his musky desert scent and all she could feel were his strong arms wrapped tight around her, supporting her, shielding her. And he gave her the strength she hadn't been able to find.

"You're here now," he continued. "You're here, Lacey Mosley. Here in the desert at dawn. Here with me. And I'll never let them hurt you, I promise."

Lacey whimpered and clutched his shirt tighter, because what else could she do? He'd pulled her back from the edge and he'd held her when she was about to fall apart. She needed time to rebuild those walls.

A few minutes later, she pulled away and brushed the lingering tears from the corners of her eyes. Gerard watched her carefully as if to make sure she didn't lose it again. She smiled weakly at him to try and prove she was alright and started walking again, pushing past him without a word. She had none to give.

The silence had returned, but it was no longer comfortable. It was the awkward silence o left in the wake of not knowing just what to say, and Lacey found herself hating it.

"So what's your story?" she asked for the simple sake of breaking the stale moment.

"Nothing as exciting as yours," he replied humorously. "It was just a combination of recklessness, superstition and pure luck. Frank and—oh, um, Ghoul and Jet were arguing about the apocalypse and I got this fucked-up idea to climb Mount Lee—y'know, Hollywood Hill?—cause Ghoul said we'd only survive if we found higher ground. None of us really believed that anything was going to happen, but then LA started burning. We were up there for three days living off beer and potato chips."

"Jesus," Lacey murmured. "That was some fucking good luck, then."

Gerard nodded amiably. "Ghoul's a lifesaver."

"What about the Killjoys? Why'd you join them?"

"That one's a bit longer," he smirked. "But then, you already know some of it, don't you? You saw the opening for Hawthorne Towers—you saw what Ghoul and I did there."

"What _were _you doing there?"

He laughed. "Well, it kind of all starts with a shopping mall and a radio…"

Gerard's story took nearly an hour to tell. By the time he had reached the end of his and his friends' tale, the two were back in front of the warehouse and the desert light had brightened from crimson red to the sunny bright yellow that was common in the Zones.

"Shit. What time is it?" Gerard muttered.

"Probably late," Lacey sighed. "Let's just get inside before anyone sounds the alarm."

Neither one of them needed to say that the meeting would be a secret, kept only between them two. They climbed the ladder up to the catwalk together and turned to face each other at the top. For what felt like the thousandth time that morning, Lacey was at a loss for words.

Gerard grinned at her deviously as if he had just shared some immense secret and waved before turning his back ad slipping back into the bedroom he and Fun Ghoul shared. She stared at the door for a few seconds in silence before following his lead.

Terry was still asleep when Lacey entered their room. As quietly as she could, she made her way over to her unmade bed and lay down, still fully clothed. There was no way she'd be able to fall back asleep that morning. Instead, she lay there and traced her fingers over her lips until Doctor Death came to wake them.


End file.
